Home
by DragonflyxParodies
Summary: Ren Arex has finally slain Alduin, but now faces a greater threat. To protect her loved ones, she leaves Skyrim to face it. Miraak, the First Dragonborn, seeks the power he needs to go home-Ren's soul. He succeeds, but at the cost of reliving what he had forgotten. Alduin has sworn vengeance on the Traitor, and his dead Dragon Priests will destroy Miraak-and Ren, in the process.
1. Part One: 1

There was a peculiar kind of beauty in the dissonance, an attraction to the rough chaos of the orchestra's music. Not all of the guests thought so, but Ren was stubbornly clinging to the music like a child clings to a useless toy. The celebration was not for her, it was to show her off like a prized possession as Jarl Balgruuf bragged that his thane had just slain Alduin, the World Eater himself. She'd had little say in the matter, but she was determined to extort something out of her presence, so had demanded the first thing that had come to mind-an Imperial orchestra.

Balgruuf had been extremely hesitant to do so. With Whiterun still on the brink of disaster, torn between the Stormcloak rebels and the Imperial Empire, bringing in a distinctly Imperial-based form of entertainment could be enough to send the entire city into war. Ulfric Stormcloak was finicky like that.

She had told him to suck it up, and that she would take the fall for it. He had caved, but only after she had threatened to let a dragon friend of hers take up permanent residence in his keep. Wisely, he had agreed.

Ren winced, shifting from foot to foot even as she leaned heavily on the pillar behind her. She hadn't been allowed any type of rest after returning, and her wounds still needed attention. Unfortunately, even the court wizard, Farengar Secret-Fire, had tossed her a few healing potions and called it good. They weren't as effective as they had been seven years ago, however, and they'd done nothing except stop her bleeding. Her bones ached harshly, like Delvin complained his did when she stayed with the Guild. But the people of Skyrim needed reassurance that their nemesis had been defeated, and she was the only one who could give that to them.

Another hand clapped against her bruised shoulder and she offered the man-a member of the Companions, she believed-a tight smile.

"If there is anything you require, Dragonborn, the Companions will be happy to assist." He declared, voice booming over the orchestra's noise. Ren's eyebrows lifted with amusement. She seriously doubted that the honor-obsessed warriors would help break her out of a jail, should she get caught doing any Guild business.

"Thank you." She muttered as she bowed her head slightly in thanks as the Companions trod off towards the mead. Finally, some peace.

She slid to the ground, unable to bear standing a moment longer. Her body screamed at the movement, then sighed in relief as she sat. She stretched her legs out in front of her and tilted her head back to stare at the ceiling.

She hadn't seen Hroar yet. She doubted he wanted to go up to Dragonsreach just to greet her when she would be home later that night, but she _was_ worried. It had been almost a month since she had last seen her son. Brynjolf had promised to take him to Whiterun when word got to the Guild of her return, but he could get sidetracked-and very easily find testing Hroar's growing skills with a lock-pick more important than bringing him to her.

A sudden hush snapped her to attention. The guests had frozen, the orchestra had stopped playing, and all were staring at the massive doors to Dragonsreach. Slowly, she pushed herself up-and froze with shock.

Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak of Windhelm, leader of the Stormcloak rebellion and murderer of the High King, stood calmly in front of the entrance.

Jarl Balgruuf stood slowly, expression carefully guarded.

"Jarl Ulfric…Whiterun greets you, provided, of course, you understand our neutrality and understand we will tolerate no act of violence within our walls." Balgruuf said, after a brief pause. Ren rolled her eyes. Nords were not known for their subtlty.

"Do you think so little of me, Balgruuf?" Ulfric asked, his deep voice carrying clearly across the room, as if he was talking to each and every one of the guests, whereas Balgruuf had simply been talking to Ulfric. The lack of the title of 'Jarl' was, however, very clear. Ren noticed Irileth, Jarl Balgruuf's housecarl, stiffen and discreetly reach for her blade.

"Tonight is a night for celebration. Tonight is a night for joy. Be glad! The World Eater has been destroyed! Skyrim is safe! Tonight is no night for bloodshed and death, Balgruuf. Tonight is a night for good mead, good company, and peace!" Ulfric roared, casting an arm at the tables, laden with food and drink. Despite the fact half of the guests were loyal to the Empire everyone lifted their tankard and bellowed out their agreement. The festivities continued almost immediately, the Companions leading the bulk of them.

Ren wrinkled her nose as a servant offered her a tankard of mead, shaking her head. She had a flask of Black-Briar Reserve in her pocket that she'd been sipping at when her wounds started to flare with pain, but she had no desire to get drunk or drink gallons of the sour mead that Balgruuf liked so much. If he had been serving some of the other types of drink she'd heard of-Ashfire Mead, Cyrodiilic Brandy, Argonian Bloodwine-she'd have been up on the table with the Companions. Regrettably, most Nords didn't drink things based on how intriguing its name was.

"Ah, Ren. How are you doing?" Ren blinked and turned, surprised that someone had managed to sneak up at her. She relaxed when she saw who it was-Jarl Idgrod Ravencrone of Morthal, a dear friend of hers.

"Injured. Tired. Nothing unusual. And you?" Idgrod chuckled and embraced her briefly.

"Morthal is doing well. We've received quite a few visitors lately…I hear you've dropped some very well-placed praises of our little town." Idgrod said, pulling away. Ren grinned.

"I don't know _what_ you're talking about." She replied, folding her arms across her chest.

"How is Joric doing?"

"I'm fine." Ren turned to her left and found Joric standing there. He was the same age as Hroar, about fifteen, and thin for a Nord. The vacant look in his eyes wasn't as overwhelming as it usually was, despite the vague tone to his voice.

"Where's Hroar?" He asked. She could see how much of an effort it cost him to focus on her.

"He might be in town-I've no idea, but I haven't seen Nelkir here either, so I assume that if he is, they're together." Joric nodded and wandered off.

"He doesn't get as lost as he used to, but I still worry." Idgrod murmured, the lines etched into her face suddenly standing out all the more than they usually did. Idgrod was gifted with visions that allowed her to see glimpses of the future and past, something that Joric had inherited. The boy, however, possessed much stronger gifts than hers. Joric reminded Ren of an Elder Scroll. He saw visions, like his mother, but had no control over them. He would grow distant and walk through a thousand events at the same time. Once, he had confided in her that he had seen a terrible battle waged over Morthal, but that those who fought were not Nords. Perhaps that had been a vision of the past, or perhaps it had been a vision of the future.

"I think the boys keep him a bit more grounded. Nelkir has somewhat similar problems." Ren replied, eyes still on the spot Joric had previously occupied. Idgrod looked at her curiously, but the older women did not press matters. It was a good thing, because Ren wasn't going to explain that Nelkir spoke to a Daedric Lord who seemed to have taken up residence in his head

"Idgrod Ravencrone…I have not seen you in years." Ren looked up slowly, dreading what she knew was about to come. Ulfric Stormcloak smiled pleasantly, if coldly, at them. Ren couldn't ignore the slight twinge of guilt she felt when she nodded solemnly in response.

"Likewise. I've little desire to speak with the one who is tearing Skyrim apart by the seams at the time when unity is most crucial." Idgrod replied dryly. Ren let a small smile touch her lips. Idgrod supported the Empire, but only out of the fact the Stormcloaks were too radical for her tastes and because of the proximity of Morthal to Solitude, the capital and headquarters of the Empire in Skyrim.

Ulfric nodded seriously.

"I agree. That is why I have come to speak with you, Ren Arex." Her eyes went wide as he turned his focus to her.

"Skyrim is now safe from the great threat of the dragons. While I do agree celebration is in order, I've only come to hear your answer."

"…Answer?" Ren repeated, staring at him blankly.

"You seem to forget a lot, Dragonborn." He mused, eyes not leaving hers.

If anyone other than him had said it, her face would have burst into flame. But Ulfric…He was different. She held respect for him, but no true liking. He was an extremist, a man of action first, thought second. If a single attempt at diplomacy failed, he dove into bloodshed. But he had been the man to ask if she was injured, when she had no idea who she was or even what her name was. It was he who had tried so hard to protect the few men he had and her, the stranger who had been destined to die on the same axe as him.

She supposed this was what having a sibling would feel like.

"Why don't you remind me?" She asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Very well. You told me you would not make a choice in regards to the war until Alduin lay dead at your feet. Now that he is dead, I want an answer." Ulfric said firmly. Ren shifted uncomfortably.

_Now_ she recalled it. She'd been drinking too much Honningbrew mead-afterwards, it had been the reason she'd helped the Guild shut down the business-and she'd happened to be wandering the streets in Windhelm. Eventually she'd bumped into Ulfric, who had been out for an evening stroll. They'd had a conversation and, as always, he had tried to recruit her. She hadn't wanted to offend him, as she had Guild business in Windhelm and wanted to get it done without having to sneak back into the city, so she'd delayed by promising him an answer after Alduin-or her-died. And then she had promptly passed out cold.

"Ulfric…." She sighed, running a hand through her hair. It was still matted from her hood-blessed Nocturnal, she hadn't even changed her armor!-and flecked with ash and dried blood.

"…No. I've seen the way you treat those who aren't Nords. They've lived in Skyrim just as long as you have and have just as much a right to their homes as you have to yours. I won't be a part of something so…racist. But I do respect you, Ulfric, and I understand what you're trying to do. It's why the negotiations went the way they did. If it's any consolation, I've no desire to join the Empire either." She added, seeing the cold look coming to his face.

When she had helped craft a peace treaty between the Empire and the Stormcloaks, she had convinced the Empire to give the Stormcloaks a few locations that seemed insignificant to them, but held a thousand subtle advantages. Resources, numbers, land….

"Your ancestors weep." He stated coolly, no emotion at all in his voice. She laughed.

"If they haven't already, I would be shocked. Goodbye, Ulfric." Without saying another word or waiting for his farewell, she slipped past him and headed for the doors. The guards nodded respectfully to her as she passed them.

There was no one on the bridge or the walkway surrounding Dragonsreach. She was alone when she leaned against the fence, gazing out at the dark plains of Whiterun. A cold breeze pressed its fingertips to her face and played with the edges of her cape, pushing clouds in front of the ivory circle of the moon. She dropped her head into her hands, shutting out all of Skyrim's wintry glory.

A hand against her shoulder blade, a body brushing her side. Only one person would bother to sneak up on her to hold her instead of kill her.

She lifted her head and dropped it onto Brynjolf's shoulder.

"You're bleeding, lass." He murmured.

"Too many Companions." She muttered. He laughed softly.

"I've dropped off Hroar. He's with the other lads, breaking into the Battle-Born home. And we've received a rather unique job in Dawnstar. There's supposedly a strange door built into a cliff, and our client wants us to break into it and steal whatever is behind it. Apparently a jester lived in it for a time and that jester made an enemy of our client."

Ren frowned. A jester? In _Skyrim?_ She'd seen the door-why would _anyone_ want to live in there?

"It sounds suspicious. In my experience its things like this that leads to danger." She said slowly.

"Should we take it?"

"How much are they offering?" Her tone was entirely business-like.

"Five hundred septims."

"Don't take the job. I've heard too many horror stories about what that door contains. I don't want anyone dying." She could feel Brynjolf frowning, but she didn't bother to elaborate. She was terrified her position as Guildmaster would get someone killed. She knew Brynjolf felt she was overly cautious, and she knew she usually was when lives other than her own rested in her hands, but something had felt wrong about that door-and it was such a strange request…

"You're still wearing your armor."

"I know…It slipped my mind. That's why I'm out here, partially." She added, pulling a face. He shifted as if to speak but a shout from behind them made Ren separate herself from Brynjolf and turn. Three strangely dressed figures were walking towards them, one of them shoving a guard with their shoulder a little harder than necessary as they passed him.

"Are they headed towards us, lass?" Brynjolf asked suddenly.

"I think so…"

"You there! You're the one they call Dragonborn?" The one in the lead demanded. Ren could tell he was male by his voice, but he had an unfamiliar accent. All three of them wore identical white masks, shaped like a many-pointed star with rounded tentacle-like spikes.

"I don't know what you're talking about." She said immediately, resorting to what usually worked with the guards of each Hold.

"Your lies fall on deaf ears, Deceiver! We know you are the False Dragonborn! You shall not stand in the way of the true Dragonborn's return. He comes soon, and we shall offer him your heart! When Lord Miraak appears all shall bear witness. None shall stand to oppose him!" He roared, drawing a dagger from his side and summoning a spell to his fingertips. Ren's eyes went wide.

Thank Nocturnal she hadn't taken her armor or weapons off.

She yanked out her sword, ignoring the tingling hum it released at the prospect of tasting blood. Daedric metal flashed as she lunged at the leader. Brynjolf shot past her, whipping his dagger across one of the other stranger's chest. Her own attack was blocked, but just barely. A spear of ice grazed her hip, shredding her armor and freezing her flesh. She let out a hiss of pain but didn't falter. Her sword slashed across the man's arm, opening it to the bone. He screamed as she snapped the blade up, and he crumpled to the ground, silent. Brynjolf had killed his own opponent and was locked in battle with the remaining stranger. A bolt of purple lightning shot over her head and she jerked herself into movement, hurrying forward and swinging her blade. The stranger was swift, however, and managed to escape with only a slight nick to the thigh. Purple sparks began gathering in the stranger's hand. Brynjolf stepped forward and slashed at the hand, surprising the stranger. The spell vanished and a screech escaped their throat-_her_ throat, Ren realized, as that was a woman's scream-as she staggered back. Blood sprayed from the place her fingers had just been. She fell back-right into the oncoming arrow of a guard. It struck her in the throat, and she gasped at them as she slowly sank to the ground. Ren turned away as the woman gurgled a few moments longer before going silent.

"Dragonborn! Are you alright?" A guard asked, skidding to a halt in front of her. She nodded wearily as the adrenaline wore off, suddenly leaving her more exhausted than she remembered every being in her entire life.

"I'm…fine." She sighed. Brynjolf was searching through the pockets of the strangers methodically, one by one.

"Corpse-looting doesn't suite me, lass." He said, catching her gaze. She smiled slightly.

"Excuse me…" The guard began, frowning at Brynjolf.

"They tried to kill me. I think we have a right to know why. Go back to your post, at least until we're done, alright?" The guard looked at her uncertainly, but slowly left. Brynjolf stood, shuddered violently, and held out his hand. A folded slip of blood-splattered paper drooped from his fingers. She took it carefully and unfolded it. The ink was smeared and indistinct in most places, but she could still make it out.

_Board the vessel Northern Maiden docked at Raven Rock. Take it to Windhelm, then begin your search. Kill the False Dragonborn known as Ren Arex before she reaches Solstheim. _

_Return with word of your success, and Miraak shall be most pleased._

Ren slowly looked up at Brynjolf, frowning.

"Do you know of a place called Raven Rock?" She asked. He frowned as he slowly shook his head.

"I've never heard of the place. Is that where they were from?"

"No, but-"

"Mom!" Ren started and turned. Hroar was running up, Joric and Nelkir fast on his heels. Nelkir gave her restrained sort of nod when he saw her and Joric let out an audible sigh of relief, but they both stopped a few feet away. Hroar tackled her, reigniting the fire in all of her bruises and cuts.

"She's going to bleed all over you, lad!" Brynjolf warned. Ren groaned as Hroar released her, but quickly drew him into a suffocating hug of her own.

"Nelkir said the Lady told him something bad was happening to you so we came as soon as we could! Are you okay?" Hroar babbled. She caught his face in her palms and studied him intently for a moment.

"You've grown." She murmured. Hroar scowled at her. He was a tall, wiry boy with a very short golden hair-unlike most Nord boys, he didn't let it grow out-and wide dark eyes. He'd grown taller since she'd last seen him, and a pale scar now decorated his cheek. He had gotten an ear pierced, and a small bird hung from it-a Nightingale.

"I'm fine. It was just an assassination attempt." She murmured, more to soothe him than herself. If they would send men after her for being the Dragonborn….Nocturnal knew what they would do to Hroar if they caught him. She released him and looked at Brynjolf, exhaustion replaced by a cold, hard determination.

"Brynjolf, can you send for Karliah? Tell her I need her to watch Hroar here." Brynjolf nodded, something akin to relief flickering across his face.

She wasn't stupid. It had been a bit much to saddle him with Hroar for a month. She knew he was courting a woman in Riften and that watching Hroar took a large part of his time for her away. But Karliah….Ren trusted her shadow-sister as much as she trusted Brynjolf, and Karliah had dropped hints on more than one occasion that she'd love to watch Hroar.

"Mom, where are you going?" Hroar demanded, grabbing her arm as she shoved the paper into a pocket and sheathed her sword.

"Windhelm."

**-XXXXXXX-**

**So, this is my Nanowrimo story, actually. xD It's divided into three parts, this is part one. Tell me watcha think, this is the only thing I've ever tried like this. ^^"**


	2. Part One: 2

"Mother, please! I can fight better than Sapphire and I can aim almost as well as Karliah!" Hroar begged, following her around as she stormed through the house. Karliah chuckled from where she was perched on the stairs, sharing a bemused glance with Ren. Hroar's point was true-he had better aim than almost anyone in Skyrim. But he was nowhere near as good a shot as Karliah. The Dunmer woman just went easy on him.

"No, Hroar. If anything suspicious happens here, take him to the Dawnguard-I don't want to put the Guild in any danger. If one of these followers or cultists or whatever they are finds the Guild, Jarl Laila could be right behind them. I owe you, Karliah, and I have no idea how to repay you."

"You've already repaid me, Ren." Karliah said softly. She looked up at the Dunmer woman, posture so relaxed and…content. It was so different from when they had first met, Ren nearly dead and Karliah thirsting for revenge. They'd gone so far. Now Ren was Guildmaster of Skyrim's notorious Thieves Guild, and Karliah back in the favor of the Daedric Prince they both served, the Nightingale Trinity restored, siblings in all but blood.

Ren shook off her nostalgia and continued cramming as many potions of healing as she could into her pack.

Two days had passed since the events at Dragonsreach. The city of Whiterun was back to normal, and thanks to a combination of luck and magic, Ren was fit to stare death in the face once again. She'd spend her time recuperating pouring over every scrap of paper mentioning Raven Rock she could find. It hadn't been much, but she had a map and a general knowledge of what it was.

Raven Rock was a small settlement on the island of Solstheim and under the control of Morrowind and one of its ruling houses. The map had Raven Rock marked in, but not much else. She was excited.

She hadn't had a chance to truly explore anything new or exciting in…ages. In the seven years she'd spent in Skyrim, she had spent a lot of it wandering around, finding new places to explore. While she rarely went into such places, she'd marked all of them on the map of Skyrim she had.

Hroar was throwing his dagger at a target, a pointed reminder of his worth and how determined he was to convince her to go.

"Hroar, I'm sorry, but if they decide to attack you-"

"I'll kill them! I've done it before!"

"That changes nothing." She said firmly. He glared at her.

"After I take care of this, I promise you I'll come back and take you there, alright? This 'Miraak' is probably just trying to stir up trouble for no good reason. I'll send you letters and souvenirs when I can." As she spoke she approached him. He glared at the wall instead of her. Gently, she touched his cheek and tilted his head until he faced her.

"I promised you I'd take care of you. I promised you you'd never have to go back to that orphanage and that you'd never have to be alone again. Have I ever broken those promises?"

"…No."

"Then trust in this one. I will come back, and I will bring you there when this is all done and over with. There will be plenty of things to kill and explore when we get there."

Some would consider her a terrible parent for saying that. She didn't really care. It worked. Hroar relented, nodding and hugging her tightly.

"I love you." She whispered.

"I love you too, Mom." He murmured back. When they pulled apart, he bolted for his bedroom. She sighed and returned to packing. She had everything she needed. Her favorite sword, a Daedric blade enchanted with a vampire-like ability, lay beside a pouch filled to the brim with soul gems. Her favorite bow, a Nightingale bow that Karliah had actually gifted to her a few years ago, lay beside a veritable mountain of arrows. Other odds-and-ends lay in her knapsacks. Her Nightingale armor laid spread out on the table.

"Ren." She turned to face Karliah. The woman stood directly before her, expression serious and calm.

"You are a Nightingale, a member of the Trinity of Nocturnal. You have sworn your soul to her service. She won't forget that. You have upheld your vows, and I know how dedicated you are to her. I think you are the only Nightingale she's had for a very long time to do so. You bear her blessings with you." Karliah seemed finished with her inspirational speech and Ren drew in a breath to thank her, to say goodbye, but Karliah continued.

"We are bound in that Trinity. If anything were to happen to you, sister, I'll know."

"Is this an offer of back-up?" Ren asked, raising an eyebrow. Karliah offered a slight smile.

"We are sworn to protect one another. I'll be on the first ship to Solstheim." Karliah promised. They hugged, and Ren blinked back tears. A sudden terror swept over her.

_What if she never returned?_

Karliah released her and Ren focused on putting her armor into one of her packs-it was too conspicuous, and bore the markings of Nocturnal plainly. She had sworn to keep the Nightingales a secret.

She had dressed in a set of worn leather armor. It was nothing special, entirely un-enchanted, and almost entirely valueless. She had found it shoved beneath her bed, and, unwilling to trek all the way to Windhelm without any form of protection at all, she had decided to use it until she got to the boat, the Northern Maiden.

It wasn't an ideal situation, but it would work.

"I played with your armor while you were sleeping last night. It should hold up considerably more than it had before." Karliah murmured, resting her fingertips on the Nightingale insignia on the gloves. A small smirk quirked Karliah's lips. Ren smiled and shook her head, taking the gloves and shoving them to the bottom of her pack.

"Thank you, sister."

"Mom." Ren turned, tilting her head to the side at Hroar's voice. He stood uncertainly behind her, his hands clasped so closely together she knew he was holding something there. He held it tightly, yet carefully, as if it were the most fragile thing in all of existence. Carefully, he unfurled his fingers, revealing the object.

It was a small band of silver metal decorated only by a small fleck of a sapphire. She recognized it instantly, before Hroar even spoke.

"When you made your first promise you gave this to me. I…I had Nelkir help me, but I enchanted it. To protect you. I want you to take this with you."

Ren couldn't hold back her tears. She embraced him tightly.

"Thank you, Hroar. I'll come back as soon as I can." She murmured. Ren released him and turned to Karliah.

"Watch over him for me. Shadows guide you."

"And you." Karliah replied. Ren wiped her tears away and gathered her belongings.

She glanced over her shoulder when she reached the gates of Whiterun, sorrow welling up within her. She hated to leave so soon after returning. But it was necessary.

She had been the target of a number of assassination attempts. None of them had come close to finishing her in the same way none of them had every tried to kill her in a city. All of the previous attempts had been executed by the Dark Brotherhood, however. Not these…followers.

Frost was waiting for her at the stables. He was a beautiful horse-Ren knew absolutely nothing about the animals, but even she could tell that-and had, actually, been the first thing she'd stolen in Riften. Shortly afterwards Brynjolf had found her and taken her under his wing, and introduced her to the Thieves Guild.

And then she'd met Mercer.

She tore herself out of those thoughts, shuddering violently, and led Frost out of the stables. He whined softly and nuzzled her shoulder as she saddled him and strapped her bags to the saddle. By the time they set out it was mid-morning. She'd hoped to be gone earlier, but it didn't really matter to her. She cared little whether she slept outdoors or at an inn.

Still, reaching Kynesgrove before dusk would be wonderful.

The trip was long, boring, and uneventful. She cut across wilderness only when she knew it would save her time. She stuck to the road and passed no one save a patrol of Imperial soldiers, and a few miles later, a pile of dead Stormcloaks that had served as lunch to some sort of creature. A troll, probably.

Night bled across the sky slowly that evening. Stars glimmered through the thick curtains of pink and orange, but it wasn't until the sun entirely vanished that she reached Kynesgrove.

Like most Skyrim nights, it was cold. Ren had little trouble finding a spot for Frost in the stables as there was only one other horse. She stretched after taking care of him, and walked into the Inn. A warm hearth swept the lingering chill from her bones as soon as she closed the door behind her. A tall woman stopped sweeping and looked up at her as she entered. The only other person in the room was a figure cloaked in black, boots propped against the hearth and chin resting on chest in a chair. Ren mostly ignored the figure.

"Can I help you?" The woman asked.

"Do you have a room available?" She asked, shifting from foot to foot. The woman eyed her, and then slowly nodded.

"If you've got the gold. Don't expect a warm meal this late, though."

"I don't. I'll eat whatever you have. How much?"

"Twenty gold for food and drink with the room." The woman said bluntly. Ren found herself liking this woman. She liked people who were abrupt, who didn't dither around a subject. It was one of the reasons she liked Nocturnal so much. The Daedric Prince was quite possibly the most candid being in all of existence. Being lied to as many times as Ren had, she appreciated that. She handed the woman the gold without much thought.

"I've a horse out there…"

"It's fine. I'll bring the food to your room. First door on the left. The name's Iddra, if you need anything." The woman said, gesturing to a door.

"Ren." She said, heading towards the room Iddra had gestured too. It wasn't anything special, but it was enough. Ren dropped her belongings in a mound between the wardrobe and the wall, and stripped her armor off. She dressed in a plain tunic and leggings that were wrinkled and patched multiple times by her unskilled fingers, and dropped onto the bed. It was more comfortable than she had expected, which brightened her day immensely. A knock sounded at the door. She pushed herself up.

"Come in."

Iddra entered with a plate full of vegetables, fruit, and bread, a tankard dangling from her finger.

"What do you want to drink?"

"Do you have any water?" A bemused expression touched Iddra's face.

"An odd request from a Nord. Yeah, just hold on." Ren accepted the plate from her and began eating, curiously watching as Iddra vanished.

The door was left open, so she could stare out at the wall opposite the main hall of the Inn. She was staring at it for no reason other than the sheer lack of anything else to stare at when the black-clad figure appeared in her doorway.

"What's your business here in Kynesgrove?" They asked. Their voice was distinctly male-and distinctly High Elven, by the tone of voice. Probably a Thalmor, she figured. He braced his arms against the sides of the entryway and leaned there, a position more relaxed than she'd ever seen any Thalmor act before. Granted, the only Thalmor she'd ever seen had been trying to kill her or she them.

"I'm passing through on my way to Windhelm, not that it's any of your business." She said guardedly, frowning at him.

"Joining the Stormcloaks like all the other farmers who travel through here?" He asked, the contempt in his voice obvious. She laughed.

"No. I stopped interfering with the Civil War a long time ago." The High Elf tilted his head in response.

"Interfering?"

"You really are a Thalmor, aren't you?" She asked, amused.

"The reports of Elven abuse in Windhelm are legendary. I am going to solve the problem." He snapped tersely. Ren laughed aloud.

"The Thalmor are considered worse than the dirt beneath a Nord's boot in Windhelm. Even the other elves think as much. You'll have no power there, no matter what your station elsewhere is. If you're lucky, they'll use you as a hostage instead of torturing you to death. And that's assuming they don't beat you as soon as they see you and drag you through the streets naked."

"I know how to defend myself."

"That's wonderful. Kill a couple of their own. That'll be _sure_ to make them like you." She rolled her eyes at him as she spoke.

"The only way to get into Windhelm without being murdered or worse is for the Dominion itself to allow free worship of Talos, which they've already declared they're against. And even that won't stop you from being spit on or stolen from or smacked, because that's only half of what the Stormcloaks want."

"You are an irritating woman, Nord." He hissed. She could practically feel his anger, radiating from him as it was. He had stopped leaning and now stood straight as a pole, arms folded across his chest.

"I prefer the title Dragonborn from those who annoy me." She said dryly. Now the Thalmor really _did_ stiffen.

"Excuse me." Iddra's voice surprised both of them. The Nord woman put a hand on the Thalmor's shoulder and shoved, sending him crashing out of the way. Without even acknowledging his shout of surprise, she walked forward and handed Ren a tankard of water.

"There's your water. Do you want to wake up early in the morning? My husband gets up before dawn to go to the mines-he can get you up if you wish." Iddra asked, entirely at ease with the spluttering Thalmor behind her. His hood had fallen off, revealing himself to be extremely young-Barely out of childhood, to the elves. He had ice-clear blue eyes and a shock of extremely messy silver hair, both of which stood out in sharp contrast to his tan Altmer skin.

"Yeah, that'll be great. Thank you, Iddra."

"It's no problem." Iddra replied, vanishing. Ren turned her attention to the Altmer.

"Why would the Thalmor send someone so young to right a problem in Windhelm so huge? You can't be any older than my son, in Elvish years." She asked. His jaw clenched, although a blush lifted his cheeks. She was embarrassing him. He said nothing in response, so she sat and mulled it over.

The Thalmor were far from stupid. They wouldn't send someone so inexperienced-or someone so easily intimidated-to a city that no Thalmor had set foot inside in centuries. Not unless-

Ren's eyes went wide.

"You're not Thalmor. Who'd you steal the robes from? Your mother? Father?" He snarled at her, suddenly furious.

"Don't speak of what you don't understand, _Nord_." He hissed, slamming the door shut. She frowned, but didn't let the encounter bother her for long. She finished eating and set the plate on the chest at the foot of her bed.

She slept all night with her sword resting beside her, which in itself wasn't unusual. What was unusual was that she wasn't wearing armor and she was in a bed. When the knock finally came at her door, she was already up and dressed, wearing the same leather armor she had been wearing yesterday. She opened the door and lugged her stuff to the stables. The other horse was gone-as was Iddra's husband, now that she thought about it.

She cared little. She saddled Frost, strapped her belongings to him, and headed down the road. She waved to the miners as she left, but they mostly ignored her. She dug through one of her bags and pulled out a loaf of bread. She ate it as Windhelm began to loom on the horizon. There were only a few other people headed towards the great stone city, and none of them followed her as she dismounted and gathered her things from Frost. He nickered softly at her, pressing his nose into her cheek before turning and wandering off. She'd no doubt he would make it back to Whiterun without trouble, but she stared after him for another long moment before turning around.

As long as she didn't run into Ulfric she would be fine.

She slipped unnoticed past the guards and headed immediately for the Grey Quarter. It wasn't the nicest part of Windhelm, but it was the most direct route to the docks. Windhelm had two gates, one of which served as the main entrance and the other of which led to the docks. Only the main entrance was guarded-a fool move on Ulfric's part, motivated solely by the very racism that kept Ren from joining their number.

A handful of Dark Elves greeted her as she passed them, but no one tried stopped her, even for a small chat. She'd spent as little time in Windhelm as possible, but on the few occasions that she had visited the city, she had harbored no reservations about helping the Dunmer community.

Some of Ulfric's thanes had not bothered to hide their snide remarks about it when they saw her.

The dock gates loomed ahead of her suddenly-her memory of the city was by far rustier than she'd thought-and she shifted her bags around as she shoved her weight against one, forcing it open. It flew open without warning beneath her body and she cried out as she fell to the ground. Ren found herself staring up into the surprised eyes of a guard.

"Damn." Ren finally breathed. The guard held out a hand, laughing. She accepted it and stood, glancing at the ground to make sure nothing had fallen. She couldn't see anything of hers lying among the grimy stone.

"I'll be sure to knock next time." The guard said, patting her shoulder roughly as he left. She scowled after him, but her harsh expression was broken by the infuriating smile that worked its way across her lips. Shaking her head, she continued down a flight of stairs to the docks.

Unlike most docks in Skyrim, this one did not smell of fish. It was the only good thing about Windhelm, in Ren's opinion. As the docks were the base of the East Empire Company's Skyrim wing, second only to their warehouse in Solitude, it was considered strictly a mercantile location. She headed up to the first dock she saw, with a boat on either side of it. A weathered old Nord looked up at her from his work repairing something on the boat to her right, so she decided it would be best to speak with him.

"I'm looking for the boat the Northern Maiden. Do you know where I could find it?" She asked, shifting her bags again. The man's eyes narrowed.

"Aye. This is her. I am her captain, Gjalund Salt-Sage. What is it you need?" He asked, laboriously pushing himself to his feet. He dusted his hands off, setting a hammer down on the dock by her foot. There was no mistaking the suspicion in his voice or eyes.

"Passage to Solstheim."

His face drained of color.

"Too bad. I'm not going back there anymore." He barked, turning on his heel abruptly.

"Hey! I'm not done with you!" Ren snapped, anger welling up within her as he went to move away from her. She dropped down onto his ship, following him. He spun around to face her quickly.

"Get off my ship." He hissed.

"No! You're taking me to Solstheim." She snapped, propping her hands on her hips as she glared at him.

"And why would I do that?" He retorted.

"If you don't take me I'll get off your ship, head right over there-" She pointed to an empty patch of dock right in front of his ship, "-And I'll Shout as loud as I can at your boat. You know what that'll do? Turn your bundle of sticks into a couple of splinters and a sail sinking into the Sea of Ghosts faster than a Spriggan on a lumberjack. Now get what you have to get. I want to be gone within an hour." She added sweetly, offering Gjalund a smile that was as frigid as the snow capping the Throat of the World itself. The Nord stared at her in something akin to disbelief for a long moment. She noticed two other Nords staring at the two of them as if she had suddenly grown two heads and he wings and a tail.

"….You're paying double the usual fee, little Nord." Gjalund Salt-Sage growled. There was a degree of respect underlying his voice, however cold it was.

"That's understandable. How much would that be?" She asked, tilting her head to the side.

"…Five hundred septims." Ren glared at him, but fished out a bag of coin and tossed it to him. He turned and began barking orders at the other two Nords she'd seen. She dropped her belongings beside the mast and settled down to watch them work until Salt-Sage set out.

A sense of relief filled her. She was finally on her way to Solstheim.


	3. Part One: 3

"Why were you so determined to go to the island, little Nord?" Gjalund asked. Ren looked at him curiously. She was sitting on the tip of the ship, legs crossed beneath her. It was night and the rest of the crew were asleep, the cargo packed away below them. According to Gjalund, they'd be at Raven Rock, in _Solstheim_, at dawn.

The water was calm, rippling gently with a faint breeze-wind a thousand times warmer than Skyrim had ever been or ever would be-and the stars shed more than enough light to see by. _No wonder Nocturnal and Azura were considered sisters,_ Ren mused. The night was so bright there was no need for a lamp or spell to see by.

"Someone there wants me dead. I'm not going to leave this alone and wait, to leave my son in any danger. But I'd be lying if I said I was going to Solstheim purely for my son's safety. This person, whoever they are, interrupted my vacation. Which is very, _very_ irritating." She added the last part in an attempt to alleviate the dark mood gathering with her words. Gjalund frowned at her, looking troubled.

"I don't want you causing any trouble in Raven Rock or for the Skaal-"

"I won't be. I have a feeling whoever I'm after doesn't live in any settlement of any sort." She shook her head as she spoke. She was glad Gjalund seemed to care about the people of Solstheim, unlike most merchants she'd met. Even the Emperor of Cyrodiil's cousin, something-or-other Vici, hadn't cared at all about her clients. Ren, along with half of Solitude, had not mourned her death at all when news of her assassination by the Dark Brotherhood themselves had begun spreading.

"Good." He said, still studying her with narrowed eyes.

"So what do you know about Solstheim?" She asked. Ren hoped he knew something of value about the island. She'd never heard of it before the attack at Dragonsreach. She had only rarely felt this uninformed about something she was investigating. He shrugged.

"Ah. Well, the Empire colonized it at one point, turned it into a booming mining town. The island itself is very close to Morrowind, so the Dark Elves began moving in. Eventually the Empire abandoned it, and one of Morrowind's ruling families took control of it. Most of Raven Rock's people are Dunmer, but there are a few Imperials and Nords scattered through it. And then there's the Skaal. I don't deal with them, though. They believe in taking what they need from the earth or some such like that, so they don't buy goods. They keep to themselves, mostly."

"Anything else?" Ren pressed. Gjalund began to shake his head slowly in a 'no', but suddenly stopped.

"Well, there's a legend that Solstheim was originally part of Skyrim. Eras ago, though, it got blasted away from Skyrim itself by a battle raged by men using the _Thu'um_. But that's Greybeard business, and to be honest, I don't believe it." There was a strange note to Gjalund's voice, as if he was subtly warning her not to press matters about the tale. Frowning at him, Ren nodded and murmured her thanks. Without waiting for it, he turned and strode off to the other end of the boat as quickly as he could.

Why was he so uncomfortable speaking of the legend?

Ren shrugged to herself and let herself slide down to the deck of the boat. Curled up against the wall, she closed her eyes and tried to go to sleep. It wasn't the most comfortable of positions, but she had endured much worse before. She slept dreamlessly and deeply for perhaps the first time in four years, only to wake up when someone shook her.

"Little Nord, wake up. We're here." Ren flapped a hand at whoever was nudging her while she opened her eyes. It was barely dawn yet, but Gjalund was looming over her. Cursing softly underneath her breath she obliged. Indeed, a port city was appearing before them, strange-looking walls and houses crowded together like beetles. She grabbed her belongings.

The entire island was alien, like nothing she'd ever seen before. For some reason, this shocked her more than any other place she'd been-even Sovengaurde itself. It was warm, warmer than even the ocean's breeze had led her to believe. Everything was buried beneath massive drifts of grey snow, snow she realized a second later was falling from the sky and, no, it wasn't snow, it was actually ash. Off in the distance loomed a massive mountain smoking violently from its peak.

_The Red Mountain!_

Strangely shaped containers cluttered the side of the docks-not barrels, but urns. Gjalund glanced back at her and laughed, sending Ren's cheeks flushing scarlet. Her wonder must be amusing to him, when he was exposed to this so often.

But, at least her jaw hadn't been hanging open.

The boat bumped against a dock and within second Gjalund and his crew had the _Northern Maiden_ tied into place. Almost immediately a tall, stiff Dunmer man stepped aboard. His pinched face appeared cold and perpetually suspicious as he headed directly for Gjalund. Upon spotting her, however, he changed course.

"Who are you? What is your business here in Raven Rock?" He demanded, narrowed eyes studying her closely.

While his gaze was as far from a leer as it could possibly get, she still felt the sudden urge to cross her arms over her chest and clothe herself, despite the fact she was already dressed and wearing the terrible leather armor.

"Ren. My business is my own." She said curtly.

"It is precisely that sort of attitude that will land you in prison, outsider." He said sharply. She shrugged and pushed her way past him, stepping onto the dock and heading into town. A few men who she assumed to be guards dressed in the strangest armor she had ever seen glared at her suspiciously while she walked into the town of Raven Rock itself.

It was like walking into an alien world.

She headed down what appeared to be the main road going through town, studying each of the buildings with undisguised curiosity. What were they made of?

She emerged into what had to be the main square of the town. A well sat in the center and a variety of shops and stands formed a ring around it, most of them in front of a particular house. All of them were manned by Dark Elves, although there were one or two Imperials shopping around and one Orc. Immediately to her right was a forge run by a Breton that looked…familiar. Inquisitive, she stepped forward until she stood before the man's forge. He was in the middle of a conversation with one of the Dark Elves, and didn't notice her.

"So where do you hail from, Glover?" The Dunmer asked, friendliness evident in his expression. The Breton-Glover-looked up.

"Skyrim, born and raised." The pride in his voice was unmistakable.

"Have any kinfolk?"

"Just a brother. Lives in Riften." Ren stood ramrod straight.

"That's quite a distance from here...what's his trade? Is he a blacksmith as well?" People here really knew nothing of Riften, Ren realized. No one would ask such a stupid question about the city of thieves.

"Nah. He…finds things that people are looking for. Makes a good bit of coin doing it, too." There was no mistaking the pride in Glover's voice as he mentioned his brother. And the only Breton Ren knew to live in Riften and…._find_ objects for others….

Ren cast a quick eye around the place, looking for something in particular. She found the Shadowmark on the door frame of the Breton's house, a diamond with an empty circle enclosed within it. The mark of the Thieves Guild itself.

"Can I help you?" She blinked and looked at the Breton, watching him follow her line of gaze to the Shadowmark.

"Didn't expect to see anyone here." She said, shifting her bags to even out their weight. Glover looked up at her and laughed.

"Well. No one from the Guild's been here in….ever. Not since I came here. How are they doing?" He asked jovially.

"Good. We've spread our influence across all of Skyrim. Coin's coming like water through the Cistern. Mercer's been brought to justice for murdering Gallus and framing Karliah." Ren added, struggling to keep the ice out of her voice when she mentioned the bastard. Glover's eyes widened. He let out a long whistle through his teeth.

"Damn. I missed all the fun, didn't I? I left before it happened, got a letter from Mercer a month or two later. Never bothered with it after. Gallus was a good man but I was done with the Guild." Glover mused, setting the sword he'd been sharpening down on the workbench in front of him.

"How's my brother doing? Old Delvin? Is he still pinning after Vex?" Glover asked suddenly, focusing on her. She laughed.

"He was still doing that even back then? Yeah. I don't think Vekel minds-as long as Delvin pays for his drinking, Vekel's got a steady source of coin." She said, relaxing her guard.

"Can you believe him? Nearly thirty years I been out here, and never _once_ has he bothered to send his own flesh and blood a letter. Remind him to do so next time you see him, won't you?" Glover asked, eager and obviously pleased. Ren wondered curiously about their relationship. Delvin had never mentioned any siblings to her. But, he was always busy trying to convince her-or any woman who took two steps into the Flagon, for that matter-to bed with him. Ren doubted he realized just how angry that made Vex, despite her adamant refusals of his usually less than elegant advances.

"Oh, I will alright. Are there any embarrassing stories you can tell me? I'm sure Delvin would love to be reminded of them." She said, a grin splitting her face. Glover roared with laughter.

"Tell you what-if you do me a favor, I'll give you all the dirt you could possibly dream of."

"What do you need?" She asked. His expression sobered up immediately.

"A couple days ago I was approached by someone who spotted the Shadowmark too. I thought he was Guild, so I let him stay at my house for a night. I figured he'd leave in the morning and that would be that. Well, he left alright-stole my Bonemold Formula too! I need that recipe to make the Bonemold armor the Redoran guards keep paying me to make. I can't go much longer without it, and I can't afford to leave my forge unattended." Glover seemed to be seething in rage by the time he'd finished. His fists were clenched so tightly around the sword he held she was shocked he hadn't cut himself on the razor sharp blade.

"Where did he go?"

"He-his name's Esmond Tyne-said something about Castle Karstaag Caverns. That's all the way across Solstheim-here, I'll mark it on your map." He sighed, holding out a hand. Ren dug around in her bags, eventually finding the folded slip of paper he needed. He unfolded it carefully, his movements at extreme odds with the anger on his face, and found a piece of charcoal. He carefully marked in not one, but two spots on her map.

"Here's the Skaal Village. If you need somewhere safe to stay, they'll probably let you stay there for a night or two." He said, pointing at a small hut-shaped mark on the edge of the island. Slowly Ren nodded, memorizing its location and where Raven Rock was marked. He moved his finger a distance away to point at a vaguely cave-like mark.

"And here's the Caverns. I have no idea what's inside of them-just teach Esmond not to steal from me again. And, if you see Crescius Caerellius, tell him to bring back my pickaxe!" He added, folding the map back up and handing it to her.

"Can't you just buy a new one?" He glared at her.

"If it was a normal pickaxe, sure! But this one is an ancient Nordic pickaxe. They're as hard to come by as good Black-Briar Reserve out here, and there are only a few left in all of Tamriel. I need it to forge Stahlrim, but the crazy bastard stole it from me."

"For someone so involved in the Guild, you seem to get in a lot of trouble with people taking your belongings, Glover." She said dryly. He continued to glare at her.

"Just go do it." He muttered, turning back to his business. Ren laughed but nodded. She put the map away and continued walking down the road. She fell in step with a woman wearing a blue hood, an expression of rapt ecstasy evident in her eyes.

"_That they have forgotten, here do we toil, that we might remember, by night we reclaim, what by day was stolen, far from ourselves, he grows ever near to us." _The woman sang, her voice beautiful and clear. Ren opened her mouth to ask what exactly she was singing, but then another man dropped what he was holding and fell in step with her, adding his voice to her chant.

"_Our eyes once were blinded, now through him do we see, our hands once were idle, now through them does he speak, and when the world shall listen, and when the world shall see, and when the world remembers, that world shall cease to be_." There was something strange about the lyrics they sang, Ren realized. She didn't know what exactly it was, but she felt certain there was a meaning behind the seeming ridiculous words. Another pair of Dunmer dropped what they were doing and fell in step with the chanters, singing loudly as they left. A couple of guards joined them, and soon Ren was following an entire congregation of followers.

_But followers of _what?

"_Here in his shrine, that they have forgotten, here do we toil, that we might remember, by night we reclaim, what by day was stolen, far from ourselves, he grows ever near to us, our eyes once were blinded, now through him do we see_." They traveled on a dirt road through a handful of shattered, broken homes. They appeared nothing more than the foundations, with strange vegetation bursting out of the ash covering them. A few urns and barrels were crammed between the crumbling walls, but other than that there was no sign of inhabitation. Not even squatters.

Something was wrong with this town.

The congregation pooled out into an opening, and Ren stopped dead with a gasp of shock. A stone spire rose out of the ground, every inch covered in intricate markings and sigils, runes that she had never seen before. It glowed a gentle green light that spiraled up into the heavens, vanishing where only a dragon would see. Wooden supports circled it, some made of stone rather than wood. The spire sat in a small pool sunken into the ground a few feet. The ringing of pickaxes and hammers almost drowned out the chanting, as it began again. As the congregation took up positions around the spire and picked up tools, Ren curiously inched towards it. Two guards stood beside a Dunmer who kneeled in front of the stone, arms upraised to the sky and face upturned. His body trembled slightly with what she assumed religious fervor, crying out the chant with his deep voice.

"O_ur hands once were idle, now through them does he speak, and when the world shall listen, and when the world shall see, and when the world remembers, that world shall cease to be. Here in his shrine, that they have forgotten, here do we toil, that we might remember, by night we reclaim, what by day was stolen, far from ourselves, he grows ever near us."_ The people, these worshippers, appeared enthralled.

_Maybe she should have asked Serana to come._

Cautiously, Ren reached out pressed a hand against the spire. There was a sudden shock, violent and raw, that traveled through her body. Then-

…

….

…Darkness. Movement. She realized her lips were moving, her voice too lifting in a song. Praise be to Miraak-this was what she was meant to do. To serve. To worship.

Eventually, light. She became aware she could see what she was doing. She was etching fine carvings onto stone, carvings of such detail and intricacy that, had she been working without Miraak's guidance, she could have never done. His power surrounded her, weighing her limbs down and cushioning her entire body, guiding each breath she took and each movement.

_Here in his shrine that they have forgotten….Here do we toil that we might remember….By night we reclaim what by day was stolen…Far from ourselves he grows ever near us…_

He commanded her to bow, to sing glories to Him, and she did so. Her tools dropped into the water, and another took them up. Tanned, weather-worn skin, face rough from days without shaving, brown eyes vacant.

_Glover_.

With a start, Ren fell back into the water, staring up at the spire with eyes wide with disbelief.

_What had just happened?!_ She looked around quickly, unnerved by what had just occurred, as she pushed herself to her feet. Then her eyes landed on the markings she'd done, the markings Glover was continuing.

_Hui Fen Dir Laan Naal wruth tuz Dovahkiin- Miraak._

_You will die slowly by my blade Dragonborn –Allegiance Guide._

Miraak? _Allegiance Guide?_

How did he know _Dov_ tongue? Could he really be another Dragonborn? Was he-had he been-a Dragon Priest? How did he control the townsfolk of Raven Rock-and probably the entire island? And, more importantly, how had he managed to take such tight control of her?

She became aware of a trembling in her limbs, a severe weakness in her body as if she had just recovered from a mortal blow with a sudden burst of Restoration Magic.

For a moment, she thought she heard faint laughter-but she dismissed it. She was hearing things, that was all.

"Glover." She said shakily, pushing herself up. Her belongings were undamaged, a quick check revealed. Thank Nocturnal her knapsacks had been treated against water. The blacksmith didn't respond to her voice at all.

"Glover." She repeated, reaching down and shaking his shoulder as hard as she could. He continued as if nothing had occurred, simply pausing in his carving until she'd stopped before continuing.

"Glover!" She called a third time. A massive hand suddenly dropped over her shoulder, startling her. She looked up and saw the vacant stare of a guard gazing down at her. His helmet was missing and he chanted with the rest of the people even as he pushed her towards the shrine. She waved her arms frantically as he shoved her off balance, realizing with no small degree of horror that Miraak, whoever he really was, wanted her incapacitated, beneath his direct control, and was willing to force her to do so.

So he wanted to keep her under his thumb. Probably to know where she was at all times so, that when the time was right, he could kill her. As his followers had shouted at her, they wanted to use her as an offering, a glorified sacrifice.

Ren fumbled with her free hand for one of her bags, grasped the hilt of a dagger, turned, and plunged it into the guard's exposed face.

It was a fairly poor dagger. Iron, clumsily made and with terrible balance. She had a stockpile of them because, as she'd found many times before, daggers were useful for all sorts of things like throwing at a long distance. But it did its work, and sent hot blood pouring across her. Disgusted, she let go of it and slipped past the man, glancing one last time at Glover. No one seemed to notice. If anything, the chanting increased as the man crumpled and gushed blood into the crystalline pool of water at the spire's base.

"_Our eyes once were blinded, now through him do we see, our hands once were idle, now through them does he speak, and when the world shall listen, and when the world shall see, and when the world remembers, that world shall cease to be."_ The song followed her as she staggered into the sea surrounding Solstheim-not too deeply in, it only came up to her knees. Blood swirled in the water around her and debris floated to the surface, disturbed by her frantic movements. She didn't care. She wanted as far away from that shrine as possible.

She still felt unexplainably weak, and being weighed down with water and her belongings did not help matters at all. She forced her legs to continue moving until she got to shore, and then glanced over her shoulder.

The spire was nothing more than a faint pillar of emerald light vanishing into a thick cloud bank.

She collapsed against a scraggly tree, grateful that the waves had kept the stone she was sitting on free of ash. She dropped all of her packs into a neat pile and then pulled out the one containing her Nightingale armor. She pulled it out carefully, inspecting it for…anything. The movement was to distract herself from the fear in her heart, not to actually help anything tangible. Fingers still shaking, she pulled the leather armor and wet clothing she wore off and tossed it into a strange-looking bush. She pulled her armor on slowly, concentrating fiercely on every movement she made.

By the time she finished, she felt much calmer, and a thousand times more prepared for whatever was about to come at her. She dropped the amulet of Articulation-a special amulet she'd been given when she'd been voted Guildmaster-over her head, and slipped on the ring that Hroar had given her, the ring that she had first given him the day she had brought him home with her.

She double checked to make sure she was set, strapped on her weapons and a quiver crammed with arrows, then hoisted her bags up and left. The armor and wet clothing stayed behind-she had no further use of it. From here on out it was too dangerous to try and hide her Nightingale armor. If anyone _did_ get too nosey, she could just kill them anyway.

She had no idea how long she walked before a slope that looked as if she could climb up it appeared. By this point she was trudging through more snow-like terrain. The map marked it as the Moesring Mountains, when she checked it for reference. It was about midday and the sun beat down steadily upon the chilly snow as she began climbing up.

Around three hours passed before she had to admit to herself she was utterly lost. Maybe off of the coast and onto the solid part of Solstheim, but nonetheless, lost.

Although, to begin with she'd had no idea of where she was headed.

With the wind trying to stop her, Ren dropped her forehead into her hands, took a step forward-

-and was suddenly falling.

"What in Oblivion-?!" She was cut off when she landed on her back. On snow, thankfully, but beneath the snow was a rock, which knocked the air from her lungs and _hurt_.

"Damned…cliff." She groaned, pushing herself up. She stood shakily, drawing in a deep breath to reaffirm that she was in fact alive-save for the fact her cowl had slipped off of her nose-and looked up.

She was surrounded by angry and slightly freaked-out looking Nords.

There were two massive, bulky men who were wearing furs, although one of them was wearing nearly nothing from the waist up, and two women. The older woman was the most conservatively dressed, but again, she was dressed in the same furs as the men wore. The other, obviously the younger, wore only a skirt and a thin band around her chest. She was lucky her chest was mostly flat.

"Outsiders are not welcome here." One of the men rumbled. He wore a hood of what appeared to be a saber cat, the fangs framing his face as if it was trying to swallow his head whole. Ren rolled her eyes.

"That seems to be a reoccurring theme on this island. If I went to only places I was welcome, I wouldn't have bothered to leave home." She snapped. The younger woman suddenly came forward, stopping just shy of touching Ren. A puzzled expression worked its way across her features.

"You smell like….cold…night….shadows. What are you?" She asked. Unnerved, Ren took a step back.

"Rakel!" The Nord with the hood barked. The woman flinched and backed up, but didn't take her eyes off Ren.

_Damn_. Were these Nords werewolves? She'd heard of them before, from Delvin and Vekel when they tried to scare the Guild, drunk, at night on the various festivals Riften celebrated. Some whispered that the Companions knew a thing or two about lycanthropy, or that there was a group of lycanthrope hunters that called themselves the Silver Hand.

The parallels between the Silver Hand and the Dawnguard had absolutely horrified Ren. While the ancient Dawnguard would have reached out and combined their efforts, the new Dawnguard was different. For one, torture was not allowed unless it was extremely justified. And for another, if a vampire was found living peacefully with the inhabitants of whatever village or city it lived in, they were left alone. Isran had not liked Ren's adjustments, but the others had, and the rules had been put up without much of a struggle.

"Look, I just want to know if any of you know where a being called Miraak is." She said shortly, after a long moment spent staring at the Nords. The large man with the hood scowled at her, and the other man followed his example. The elder woman sniffed disdainfully and turned, vanishing somewhere behind them.

It was the younger woman who showed her.

She lifted her arm to point somewhere to Ren's right. Ren turned, and saw a faint pillar of green light standing strong against the strong winds blowing.

"Thank you." Ren murmured, and hurried over a pile of fallen rock.

She met no trouble walking through the wilds. Her walking was peaceful, to her relief. If Miraak really was _this_ close, she wanted to be ready for him when she found him. It was dark by the time the light really grew strong and she knew she was close. She cast a Candlelight spell, summoning an orb of blue light to guide her. It would make her an instant target or any enemies near her, but she could faintly hear the ringing of pickaxes and hammers. She doubted she'd hear that, even if Miraak's control was absolute, if there was a beast massacring the islanders. With the illumination of her spell, she saw a step ahead of her and let out an explosive sigh of relief. She was almost there.

And then she found the first skeleton.

It was a dragon, there was no mistake about it. While vegetation had claimed most of the bones and time had eroded the rest, it still gleamed a dull ivory beneath her spell as she slowly approached it. It was spread out as if it had spiraled from the heavens, wings outstretched and tail curved, neck thrust upwards. It was clear that the dragon's soul had been taken, and that its head had been crushed by its landing. Agony was written into every inch of bone. She could feel the faint remnants of its soul, lost and screaming desperately for help, for salvation, for deliverance.

Two steps up the staircase and she found another one.

The land around her was a bone yard for dragons.

She traveled slowly up the stairs, seeing an innumerable number of skeletons. One was even sprawled across the steps, and she had to pick her way through its bones to continue. The dragons ranged in size and shape. One was about her size, another the biggest she had ever seen, nearly twice the size of Alduin himself.

She realized that adults had not been the only ones to die here. Children, if the sizes were any indication. She'd never heard of a baby dragon, though. It was something to ask Paarthurnax next time she saw the white _Dov_.

"_Here in his shrine, that they have forgotten, here do we toil, that we might remember, by night we reclaim, what by day was stolen, far from ourselves, he grows ever near to us, our eyes once were blinded, now through him do we see, our hands once were idle, now through them does he speak, and when the world shall listen, and when the world shall see, and when the world remembers, that world shall cease to be."_ The sound of chanting, and the striking of metal on stone, grew louder. As did another sound.

Shouting.

She reached the top of the hill to see another stone spire reaching towards the clouds, another group of men and women-and small green creatures clad in bones and fur, the likes of which she had never seen before-but also, another woman who was desperately trying to awaken one of the devoted worshippers.

The worshipper in question was kneeling before the stone, face and arms upturned to the green light as she sang the chant. She seemed  
unaware of the woman sobbing beside her, shaking her in a vain attempt to wake her. Like the other stone, two other people stood on either side of the praying woman, chanting with the rest. Most of the men and women were Nords, which surprised her. They were clad in thick fur clothing, most with nothing save their faces poking out. _Could these be the Skaal?_

"Ysra, can you hear me? We must leave this place!" The woman begged, tugging on the praying woman's arm. The movement had no effect whatsoever. She had a beautiful, strange accent that Ren had never heard before-come to think of it, so did all of the other chanters, save of course the green creatures.

"_By night we reclaim, what by day was stolen…"_ The woman cried, tone rapturous. One of the men standing beside her turned, movements slow and deliberate, and picked up a hammer. One of the laboring green creatures set down their tools and stood in his place, but although Ren was certain it was chanting the same things the Nords were, she couldn't understand it. The woman who was as sentient as Ren herself, still crying, stood. She wiped her cheeks as she looked up-and saw Ren.


	4. Part One: 4

"You there. What brings you to this place? Why are you here?" The woman asked, hurriedly drying her face and stepping forward, away from her companion.

"Who are you?" Ren countered, still trying to wrap her head around the fact that this woman wasn't under the influence of Miraak.

"I am Frea of the Skaal. I am here to either free my people or avenge them." She murmured grimly, casting a look at the woman-Ysra-who remained praying.

"Save them from what?" Ren asked, hope bursting to life as she realized that this Skaal woman might know what exactly was going on.

"I am unsure. Something has taken control of most of the people of Solstheim. It makes them forget themselves….and work on these horrible creations that corrupt the Stones-the very land itself. My father Storn, the shaman, says Miraak has returned to Sosltheim, but that is impossible." Frea added quickly, shaking her head as if forcing herself to believe that logic had any relevance to this matter at all. Ren watched it with a small degree of amusement. She'd thought the same, once. But being forced into so many different, impossible situations had dulled it. She accepted most of what came her way now without any real consideration to whether it should be possible or not. There _was_ a weapon that could blacken the sun. There _were_ dragons in Skyrim. There _was_ a key that could open doors that were not physical.

"Miraak tried to have me killed." Ren offered, seeing the intense look in Frea's eyes.

"Then you and I both have reason to see what lies beneath us. Let us go. There is nothing more I can do here. The Tree Stone and my friends are beyond my help for now. We need to find a way into the temple below." There was no mistaking the regret lacing her voice, or the look she cast at the people again.

"You're here by yourself?" Ren asked, suddenly wary with the way Frea had spoken.

"There are a few of us left unaffected by this curse. My father, Storn, the shaman, protects them in the village. I fashioned an aumlet to guard me against whatever has taken hold of the Skaal, but it is the only one of its kind. If I cannot find a way to save them, then there is no hope for my people." Frea ended with a soft whisper, closing her eyes tightly as if warding off a bad image.

A lightning bolt exploded against the stone behind her, startling both of them. Two figures dressed exactly as the would-be assassins from Dragonsreach charged at them, one of them cursing. Ren drew her sword without another thought and charged.

"Shadows take you!" She roared, swinging down brutally. The person she attacked held only a staff and a dagger, and they raised their staff to defend themselves. There was a violent shock up her arm as her blade cleaved the magical piece of wood in half, but the tip of her blade caught them somewhere, because a tendril of ruby magic wound its way from her sword up her arm, and the numbing sensation vanished. Her attacker cried out in fear and staggered backwards-and then Frea was there, finishing them off. Seeing Frea had it under control, Ren bounced over to the other body and searched it. She found nothing of any real value, save a handful of coins, two lock-picks, and a cheap silver ring. She pocketed the items and straightened, catching Frea's look of disgust.

"What?" Ren asked defensively.

"I suppose outlanders have different customs than the Skaal do." Frea said frankly. Ren rolled her eyes.

"And I suppose you wanted to let it go to waste?" She replied. Frea shook her head.

"If your beliefs do not teach of how to properly handle the dead, that is not my business." Ren laughed at the pointed jab.

"My 'beliefs' do teach about handling the dead. If someone who you trust, or who trust you, dies, bury them in stone. If an enemy dies, take what you can from their cold and presumably dead corpse." Frea shuddered at her words.

"Come. Let us enter the temple before it gets any later." Frea said shortly, turning briskly on her heel and heading towards the open maw that Ren figured led to a flight of stairs. She sighed wistfully as the passing thought of sleep occurred to her, but followed.

Whoever this Miraak was, he knew how to torture people. The stair case was just the perfect length that, while it wasn't short, it wasn't long either, and by the time Ren had gotten to the bottom she felt like she'd walked a thousand miles, yet when she'd turned around, she had been horrified to see just how small of a distance she had really gone. Frea laughed softly at her groan of disgust, which resulted in the third round of glares since they'd begun walking down the stairs.

Ren was certain Frea was wishing she hadn't made the offer to her. Ren was used to getting stuck with people who had radically different ideals than she did, however, so she was far more comfortable than Frea was.

"Well, here's the door," Ren said lamely, gesturing towards the square structure in front of them. Frea ignored her and opened it, vanishing inside before Ren could say anything in return. Ren scowled momentarily, but followed.

It was a Nordic ruin.

"There might be something of use in one of these rooms." Frea murmured, heading into an opening to their right. Ren shrugged and went to the left. There were actually some pretty useful items scattered around it. Some powerful healing potions, a handful of valuable gems, and a couple hundred septims. That brightened her mood considerably. She put them away and went to find Frea. The Skaal was already waiting for her in the main hall, however.

"Are you ready to go?" Freak asked, although somewhat curtly. Ren spent a moment staring at the darkness looming ahead of them, and then sighed.

"Shadows preserve us, yes." Frea cast her a strange glance, probably wondering where the phrase had come from, but said nothing as she led them on. She stopped Frea just before Frea opened a door.

"Don't step on that." She said, pointing to a raised plate on the ground. Frea frowned at her but nodded, and they progressed onward.

Before they'd gone far in the room, a trio of Miraak's followers attacked. The fight was brief, but Ren sustained a wound to her upper left arm. A gentle pulse of healing magic solved that, although Ren was very antsy about Frea using magic on her. She only let those she trusted use power on her, which amounted to perhaps ten people in all of Skyrim-one of which was a pure-blooded vampire, another of which was a dragon that had died centuries ago, and the rest included a handful of people who couldn't even use magic. Needless to say, Frea did not rank among their number.

"Miraak was trying to take power here, and protect himself in the process…" Frea murmured. Ren didn't respond. While she wanted to know as much about Miraak as she possibly could, she was feeling a bit spiteful towards Frea's forced healing, and really didn't want to hear anything about it from her.

Serana would have slapped her for it. She _wished_ Serana were here. She needed someone to slap her. Provided, of course, it wasn't Frea.

They emerged into a large room, caves dangling from the ceiling. Skeletons lay desolately within them, and many lay on the ground, broken and ancient. Being no newcomer to ancient scenes of unimaginable violence, Ren could easily pick out the discolored stone beneath each of the skeletons-or, in some cases, without a skeleton.

"I do not wish to imagine the kinds of things that happened in this chamber. Who were these poor souls trapped in these cages? What tortures did they suffer at Miraak's hands? Was it in service to the dragons, or for his own purposes?" Frea murmured. For once, Ren was in complete agreement with her. Frea looked around, and suddenly pointed. Ren followed her line of gaze to a flight of stairs entirely buried beneath rubble.

For the thousandth time, Ren found herself wondering what this place looked like in its prime, when its walls weren't broken and its inhabitants not dead.

"I have the utmost confidence that you can find your way through that." Frea said wryly, dropping her hand. She began investigating one of the skeletons immediately.

"I never told you my name, did I?" Ren murmured. Both of them had kept their voices hushed after entering the temple, but Ren suddenly became intensely aware of it. This was an unnatural silence, the silence of some great entity listening to the amusing mice that believed themselves so far above his control.

_Miraak meant for us to come here, _Ren realized.

"No." Frea slowly replied, staring at her curiously. Ren took a deep, calming breath before speaking her name.

"Ren. Ren Arex." Frea still regarded her strangely.

"What does your name mean to others, outsider? What weight does it carry to those who share your home?" The question surprised Ren. She remained silent for a long moment before answering.

"To some it means hero, or savior. Others look down at me for it. And then there are the people who know what it means, every facet and every version. Those are the people I call friend, family, or a very dangerous enemy." She added, glancing around the room again, certain she could feel the unseen listener's eyes upon her.

"Tell me, Ren Arex, why would someone look down upon you?" Frea asked, seeming to be honestly interested. Ren laughed softly.

"It's not a Nord name. It's not a woman's name. One of the first things I remember is a Bosmer by the name of Ren Arex sacrificing his life to prolong mine. So I took his name. Maybe tales of what I've done will reach Valenwood, and his family will revere him. It will be _his_ tale that goes down in history, even if all of Skyrim knows I'm a woman, I'm a Nord, and they don't know who Ren is. And even that can be fixed with some gold." Ren felt strange, revealing this to a stranger, a woman who obviously disliked her. She'd told only Nocturnal, although she had no clue or care as to whether the cold Daedric Lord had bothered to listen to her murmurings. Even then she hadn't explained why or the specifics of it. Only Hroar knew, but that was because as much as he enjoyed stealing objects, Nelkir enjoyed stealing secrets. And every Jarl has to have a record of their thane _somewhere_. Frea's eyes had softened, though.

"This does not bother you?"

"No. Anonymity is my ally. Always has been, always will be." She laughed softly as she spoke.

And _then_ the cultists-she had decided 'followers' was too nice of a word for the persistent little buggers-rushed in for a surprise attack, backed by two Draugr. Fortunately for her and Frea, they were unskilled and easily dispatched. The battle had taken them around the pit in the center of the room and Ren noticed a flight of stairs leading down into it. She glanced at Frea, who stared back, and together they headed down.

After a handful more cultists, they reached a gate. A handle was imbedded in the wall beside it and Ren pulled it without much thought, opening the next segment of MIraak's temple to them. This section appeared to be a crypt and a crypt only, so she motioned for Frea to crouch and managed to guide the Skaal warrior through it without any fighting. As they came across Draugr that were awake, it became more dangerous, especially when they reached a handful of very sensitive traps-a Draugr wandered onto one. Frea looked terrified when one brushed past her face, much to Ren's amusement. When they finally broke free of the crypts and into a tunnel that looked very familiar, Frea looked relieved to be free of the Draugr.

"They aren't that bad, you know. The Draugr, I mean." Ren added, seeing Frea's look.

"I am certain they are not…._that bad_ to one such as yourself." Frea said tightly, trying and failing to discreetly wipe some sort of dry substance off of her cheek. Shaking her head with amusement, Ren straightened and studied the hall they were in.

In any other Nordic ruin, it would have been the entrance to one of the ancient Nord's infamous puzzle doors. And, while it did appear to be a Hall of Stories, judging by the depictions of men and women praying to a Dragon Priest, the massive scythes swinging back and forth through the air coupled with the lack of one such puzzle door confused her.

This was too easy. Again, the feeling of being watched-of being herded like cattle-flooded over her. She glanced at Frea, but the Skaal woman seemed oblivious.

"I do not think I am fast enough to make it through this. You stand a better chance than I do. I will wait here for you to pull the lever." Frea said, expression unreadable. Ren wondered with no small degree of amusement if Frea was hoping she would get sliced in half. She glanced at the lever Frea meant, which sat on a small pedestal practically beckoning _Here! Pull me!_

Well, too bad. She was the Dovahkiin.

Ren drew in a deep breath and expelled the air in the form of a shout.

"_Feim Zii Gron!"_ Blue mist exploded into existence all around her, crawling across her armor and seeping into her flesh, freezing the air in her lungs. She squeezed her eyes shut, opening them only when she could feel the last chill of the _Thu'um_ fade away.

She appeared ghost-like by all accounts, vaguely resembling the wispmothers that so frequented the cold wilds of Skyrim's holds. Frea shouted and jumped back, eyes as wide as plates.

"You are a _Dragonborn?"_ Frea gasped, one hand on her chest. Ren nodded slowly and set off-she had no idea how long this would last for, and she couldn't speak while in this ethereal form anyway.

It was eerie, having a massive blade swishing through where her stomach was. Ren had to hold in the urge to scream when, after looking up, one passed right through her head.

After what felt like an eternity-Ren had never used this Shout before, although Paarthurnax had helped her understand it a bit more fully than she had after learning it-she finally reached the lever. She contemplated how long it would take for the _Thu'um_ to wear off. She reached for her blade as she did so and experimentally tried to draw it. She couldn't feel the hilt, but she could see her fingers wrapping around. As soon as she lifted her closed fist, however, her body solidified so quickly she fell to the ground in shock. It took a moment to get used to breathing again, another to remember how to move solid limbs.

"In answer to your question; yes." Ren called weakly to Frea, pushing herself up and tentatively grasping the lever. She pulled it quickly, wincing as particles of rust and dust covered her hand. Despite the fact most of the temple seemed well traveled-even the Hall of Stories seemed like it got regular traffic-this particular lever had been left untouched.

The feeling of being manipulated returned.

"Are you getting tired?" Ren asked as Frea reached her side. The Skaal was staring at her with an extremely guarded expression.

"…No. But let us go as quickly as we can. This place is…wrong." Frea said curtly, slipping past her. With a sigh, Ren shook her head and followed. She kept her mouth shut when she saw a handle peeking out of the wall-it probably led to a secret chamber filled with treasure, as her experience declared. But, despite her anger with Frea, she did agree. This was getting tiring. They needed to kill Miraak and get out. Finally Frea stopped and grasped a handle hanging from the wall, pulling it sharply.

A soft thump of something fallen met their ears, and trading a glance, they continued on. As soon as they entered the large room that had just opened before them, wooden bridges fell from the wall to their left, showing a handful of openings occupied by what appeared to be two Draugr and another one of Miraak's cultists.

In unison, Frea and Ren drew their blades.

Ren took the closest Draugr while Frea tackled the cultist. The Draugr Ren found herself exchanging blows with wasn't just any Draugr-it was a Deathlord. She let her blade do the work for her, as it hummed in glee. Really, it was extremely easy to please. As long as she was fighting something, it didn't care what was going on or whether she was in a bad mood. Ruby magic began swirling around her with each successful hit, mostly negating her unlucky hits. She managed to crush its kneecaps and promptly decapitate it-only to turn and find its partner bearing down on her. Without thinking, she Shouted.

"_Iiz Slen Nus!"_ A burst of sheer force exploded into existence before her, sending the Draugr tumbling backwards end over end, only to crush itself on the nearest wall. Pleased with the turn of events, she glanced at Frea. The Skaal was waiting impatiently at a big door, the cultist's body lying bleeding out at her feet. Her expression was stony.

"Is there a problem with me being Dragonborn?" Ren asked, quickly reaching Frea and opening the door.

"You are like Miraak." She said bluntly. Ren frowned at the Skaal.

"Don't tell me you're really that short-sighted."

Frea shook her head in response and turned sharply, leading the way farther into Miraak's temple. Ren hurried to catch up, frowning empathetically.

"I do not know what it is Miraak learned that gave him reason to turn on his masters, but his path seems to have been a cruel one. I wonder if we will find some answers to what happened so long ago…" Frea seemed to catch herself and trailed off immediately. Ren agreed. They stood in a corridor entirely caged in by metal mesh-but the most horrifying thing of all was the bodies. Wrists tied to the metal that encased Ren and Frea, they hung desperately to something that had obviously not provided any sort of salvation. Some even lay twisted and broken upon the top of the cage, limbs reaching into them and rib cages embracing the cage tightly. Ren shuddered to herself at the very notion of what these people must have gone through. She had no doubt after the temple had been abandoned they had been left, alive but doomed to die slowly and agonizingly.

The cage opened up into another stone passage, debris cluttering the sides of the temple and roots dangling lifelessly from the ceiling. It turned to their left, revealing a handful of empty alcoves and some ominous black coffins. As expected, the coffins exploded and two Draugr tumbled out of them. Without much thought Ren sent her blade skittering across one's dry neck, and the head rolled a few feet away. Frea dispatched the other, and without a word to Ren, the Skaal warrior continued. The tunnel ended in a ruined metal cage, the opening leading towards a cave. Ren would have thought it had fallen by accident, but there were carvings and structures placed around the cave, which led her to think it had been intentional-or at least mostly intentional. The large cavern contained the metal cage they had just walked through, and encircled a sunken piece of dirt. Ren surveyed the walls around it and saw no openings.

"How are we going to get up there?" Frea asked, pointing towards the shelf opposite the room of them.

"There looks like there are stairs over there." Ren replied, pointing towards stairs a little way to their left. When Ren saw another handful of black coffins, however, she motioned for Frea to crouch. Their progress was slow, but they made it around the main cavern without much difficulty. A flight of stairs led out of the cavern-and down.

At the bottom of the stairs, Ren froze. A massive dragon skeleton hung, displayed like a trophy from the ceiling, poised as if in the middle of an attack. Below it stood a black coffin, to her left a word wall, a _Thu'um_ whispering, begging for her attention, and to her right four other black coffins. She spotted a small chest, but other than that, nothing.

"I had heard Miraak had turned against the Dragon Cult, but to display the remains in such a manner as this…it is no wonder the dragons razed his temple to the ground. Seeing the remains hung up like trophies must have enraged them to no end." Frea murmured, voice barely above a whisper. Ren nodded her agreement, but received a scathing look from the Skaal woman. With a sigh Ren approached the word wall, pressing her fingers against each word until she felt the one that had been imbued with a _Dov_'s power.

"_Mul….Strength….Mul….Fron Dovahkiin."_ She expected the remnants of the voice that resided within the words to be faint, rough and unfamiliar with the language itself. All Dragon Priests, no matter how powerful, were. But this…this was different. A _Dov_ itself-_himself-_was speaking, murmuring the words with such power, such _knowledge._ Not to mention acknowledging her.

This had to Miraak, his voice, his bread crumbs left to taunt her. But then, why did he sound so subdued, so sorrowful, so regretful?

She staggered back as the word burned its way into her mind, her soul, her tongue, her mouth. The most terrifying part of it was that she could feel Miraak pressing it on her, not some nameless spirit that had lost its identity over the years.

It was extremely intimate, his soul-and it was his, she could feel it reaching out from wherever he was-searing its way into hers, carving the memory of the word into her very being. She could feel his curiosity, vaguely, as he did so. She knew he could feel her own shock, her own confusion, her own-

"-_Ren_!" Frea's scream shocked her back to the present. She was slumped against the word wall, her sword lying a few feet away. Frea was buckling beneath an onslaught of Draugr, although two lay dead at her feet. Ren forced the dizziness from her head and grasped her sword. She was off-balance during the entire fight, and although she managed to kill two of the weaker Draugr, Frea did all of the work. When the last body fell, Ren tossed Frea a potion of healing.

"What happened?" Frea asked sharply, anger etched into her eyes.

"Try being _Dovahki_-Dragonborn for a day, Skaal, and you'd shatter under the pressure. Do not snap at me for things I have no control over. I absorbed a _Rotmulaag_…..Word of Power. I might be a little strange for a while. It…messes with my head." Ren found herself focusing on each word she spoke. If her focus shifted, she slipped into _Dovah_, which was not the most understandable of languages. Frea shook her head and glanced around the room instead.

"What? Is this a dead end?" Frea murmured. Ren wandered over to the coffin located beneath the dragon's skeleton. It stood out from the rest-it had to be special. Memories of another false panel flickering into her mind, she pressed her fingertips against the back of it and pressed. It gave for a second, caught, and then crashed to the ground.

"_Het_…Here, Frea." Ren corrected, glancing at the Skaal. Frea was already walking towards her. With a sigh, Ren led the way through the secret passage.

It led to a dining hall. A quick survey revealed nothing of particular value, so the pair continued on. They emerged into a larger kitchen-like area. A handful of potions and dried ingredients were scattered around the room, which Ren grabbed quickly.

"We should look around. I will take this room. You should take the back room." Frea instructed, already wandering around. Ren rolled her eyes but obeyed. She found a switch within minutes-thieves had to know where triggers would be-and skipped over to Frea even as the Skaal called that a secret passage had just opened.

They followed a tunnel for a short while, and it opened into a circular room. Flanking the entry that had gone through were two pedestals bearing books, but the books had been so badly damaged by time they were nothing more than clumps of leather and melted paper.

This room had been exposed to dragonfire.

"I wonder if there is something here that tells the story of Miraak." Frea murmured. She walked away before Ren could answer, and with a sigh she hurried to follow. Frea led the way into a room with the strangest carving Ren had ever seen extending from the wall. A three-headed beast with fish eyes and maws filled with jagged teeth. On the floor beneath it was a metal grate.

"I do not recognize this statuary. We passed a few of them earlier, but they are becoming more frequent as we get further in. I do not like this place. It almost looks as if these statues will come to life at any moment." Ren could not recall passing one such statue earlier, but she shrugged.

"They could. Gargoyles are a bit tricky like that." Ren replied. Frea shot her a scathing look.

"I'll leave the honor of pulling that handle to you. I do not want to put my hand anywhere near the mouth of that statue." The sarcasm in the word 'honor' was unmistakable.

"Sure." Ren murmured, grasping the handle and pulling as hard as she could. There was a clanking behind her, and she turned to see the grate had fallen in, revealing a curved flight of stairs. They exchanged looks and headed down it silently, then another flight of stairs. Strange statues dominated the next few rooms, appearing to be gaping maws encasing flames. Both of them avoided the statues instinctually.

Another handle appeared and Ren pulled it, which led to another flight of stairs and a closed wooden door. A handful of skeletons and a pair of Draugr attacked them once the doors had opened, and, noting a dragon skull hanging above a brazier, Ren shoved her weight into the nearest Draugr and sent it flying into the fire. She struck at it with her sword at the same moment as Frea dealt with the skeletons-one hit and they collapsed. Satisfied it was dead she turned to the other-but found Frea finishing it. The Skaal shot her a triumphant look and stalked forward. Ren followed with a roll of the eyes, and froze.

The entire massive hall was draped in hanging moss and lichens, giving it a mysterious, ancient appeal. Yet what held her attention was the _Dov_ skull, framed by its own wings. The position must have been agonizing, when it had been alive. Now, as they approached it, she could see dried twists of twin tying the bones together, discolored a dark color with ancient blood. Ren could feel the faint ghost of the _Dov_-and a thought bloomed to life in her head.

Why were parts of the dragon's souls left behind, if Miraak was Dragonborn? When she absorbed a soul it ceased to exist-at least, to her awareness. If they were the same…why were they so different?

They passed another dragon put up like a trophy, but Ren had no eyes for it. What she saw was the statue rising up at the top of the stairs, of a strange crab-like being with more eyes than Ren had ever seen on any one creature. Frea stared at it wordlessly and then pushed past it, but Ren stayed behind. A large chest-what she assumed to be an offering chest-sat in front of the statue. She raided it, finding a pile of gems and a cache of arrows-Daedric arrows-along with a handful of other valuable items.

"Are you coming?" Frea snapped. She glanced up, dropping the lid of the chest, and scowled. But she followed Frea, who had pulled a chain, revealing the next tunnel they had to go through.

At the end of it, they found a circular room made entirely of a strange material, a strange mesh that she had never seen before. A pedestal in the center of the room was the only furnishing.

Resting upon it was a black book. Its cover was warped and raised all over, glowing maliciously with a green light. The cover was embossed with a strange design the likes of which she doubted existed anywhere else on Tamriel.

"This book…it seems wrong, somehow. Here, yet…not. It may be what we seek." Frea added, sounding uncertain. Shaken. Ren knew what she meant, but the sinister air surrounding it wasn't going to stop her.

"I'll open it."

"But-" Frea gasped, reaching out and grasping her arm. She turned to look at Frea.

"I've read some very dangerous things in my life, Frea, and so far, they haven't killed me. If this book leads us to Miraak, then I'm all for it." She said wryly, shrugging.

"Like what? "Frea challenged, obviously angry.

"A couple of Elder Scrolls, for example." Ren said flippantly, taking a twisted sense of pleasure in the Skaal's shock as she pulled out of Frea's grasp and turning to the book. Before Frea could say another word, Ren picked it up and flipped it open.

For a second, time froze. The pages, for a second, were covered in flowing words, but before she could read them they changed.

_Daedric symbols? But that-_

They glowed, brilliantly, and literally _came off the page!_ They formed a spiraling circle in front of her and Ren, too shocked by the sudden turn of events, didn't have the time to react or register why the circle was so dangerous, before a tentacle shot out of it. It was warm and dry-it would have been a thousand times better if it had been cold and slimy, because it felt so alive-and slipped around her throat. Her eyes widened, but before she could speak, it _pulled_-

She found herself on her hands and knees in quite possibly the strangest landscape she'd seen as of yet. She was surrounded by a sea of thick, oily black sludge, tentacles traveling out of it and spiraling up into a sky that was just as dark and just as oily as the ocean. The apparent difference was that small knots of tentacles floated like clouds in the sky. Before her stood a tall, broad-shouldered man clad in green and black robes, his back to her as he addressed a congregation of some of the strangest creatures Ren had ever seen. A dragon, but a dragon unlike any she had ever seen before. It appeared snake-like, and had its head bowed towards the man. Some strange creatures appearing like a robed mass of tentacles flanked her-although they were not facing her-and she spotted about four on each side. The ground beneath her hands was, as a quick glance revealed, made entirely of books.

_Books?_ She quickly straightened.

The man paused-he'd been shouting what Ren figured to be a motivational speech at the creatures whom Ren assumed were his minions-and suddenly turned to face her.

Despite the fact he wore a golden mask vaguely reminiscent of a Dragon Priest's, she recognized him immediately.

Miraak.

"Who are you to dare set foot here?" He asked, voice cold, hard…but slightly amused. Ren scowled, tugging her hood off. She wanted him to be able to see just how extremely pissed off she was.

"Ahh…You are Dragonborn. I can feel it. And yet…" He trailed off for a moment. His posture was more relaxed now, his words almost challenging as he settled into a half-amused half-surprised appearance.

Ren honestly couldn't imagine why. He had tried to kill her. Why _wouldn't_ she come after him?

"…So you have slain Alduin. Well done...?" He trailed off, clearly expecting her to answer with her name. Her eyes narrowed.

"…Ren. You must be Miraak. I have a bone to pick with you." She said curtly, crossing her arms and taking a few steps closer. She stopped when the strange-looking dragon growled slightly, surprised. Was this _Dov_ truly loyal to him?

"Well met, _Mal Dovahkiin_. I could have slain Alduin myself, back when I walked the earth…but I chose a different path." He said wryly, drawing an arm back to gesture at their surroundings. She couldn't help herself from glancing around at the alien setting again. And, had he just called her _little?_

"So you are, in fact, Dragonborn?" She asked, directing all of her attention on him. She wanted some answers, and he seemed to know all of them.

She could feel his smile, even beneath his mask.

"Of course. You have felt it before…Ren." He seemed to pause on her name, drawing it out as if testing her. She felt uncomfortable with him saying it, although she couldn't fathom why she would give a septims worth of care about the subject. She glanced away, recalling the sheer amount of pressure he had forced on her, scarring that word onto her soul.

"That doesn't prove anything. You could be a Tongue." She retorted, drawing herself together. He tilted his head slowly, regarding her carefully. She felt him studying her-not leering like Delvin did. His gaze was clinical. Evaluating. Assessing.

"Do not disappoint me now, Ren of the Nightingales." He murmured softly. His words were barely audible, but they sent a chill racing down her spine.

_How did he know she was a Nightingale?!_

He suddenly straightened, posture becoming severe and businesslike.

"I am afraid our time has run out, _Mal_ _Dovahkiin_…And you still have no idea the true power a Dragonborn can wield."

"Why do you keep calling me little?" She demanded, thoroughly annoyed with it.

"_Mul Qah Div!"_ He did not respond to her question but she could hear his laughter in the _Thu'um_ as clearly as she could see the suddenly iridescent light that surrounded him, forming armor made entirely of light.

His use of the _Thu'um_ shocked her. She'd never heard another Dragonborn Shout-she had heard Tongues, of course, but never another Dragonborn. She could feel the Shout pressing against her, whispering phrases that slipped from her thoughts as readily as they appeared and silencing her own tongue.

"This realm is beyond you. You have no power here, _Mal Dovahkiin._ Solstheim will soon be mine. I already control the minds of its people. Soon they will finish building my temple, and I will return home." There was such vehemence, such steel in his voice that Ren couldn't find any words to snap back at him. What had spurred the sudden change in demeanor? He turned to two of the strange floating creatures dismissively.

"Send her back where she came from. The _Mal Dovahkiin_ can await my arrival with the rest of Tamriel." Her jaw dropped as the creatures slowly turned to face her-all four of them-as he _climbed aboard the dragon!_

"By the Nine." She gasped. The _Dov_ began beating its wings, lifting itself high up into the air. Miraak was _riding_ the dragon!

Her attention shot to the creatures and she fell into a defensive stance, reaching for her sword. Before her fingertips could even brush it, the creatures lifted their hands, placing their wrists together.

A wave of cold energy washed over her.

It was unbelievable in strength, forcing her legs to crumple. She fell to her hands and knees, gasping as the power attempted to crush her. She could feel it prying her apart at the seams, tearing at her very being-

"-Ren!"

Ren found herself lying on stone, body entirely absent of any sort of pain. Curiously she pushed herself up, looking around. Frea stood over her, a frantic expression on the Skaal's face.

It took a moment for what had happened to fully register.

"By Talos." Ren groaned, dropping her face into her hands.

"Are you alright? What happened?" Frea asked urgently, grasping her wrists and pulling her to her feet. Ren stumbled into Frea, still reeling from the pressure that had forced her out of wherever she'd been.

"I...I saw Miraak."

**XXXXXX**

Super effing long chapter. X.X Sometimes I think I need to cut them in half, but yeah, I'm too lazy~. Thanks for the review, Odalique! Means a lot that you like it so much ^^

So thoughts? Reviews would be appreciated.


	5. Part One: 5

"You need to rest, Father."

"I am fine. The village needs my help. Aeta is but a child, she cannot take my place for long."

"I will take her place. You need to sleep, and to eat. When was the last time you took care of yourself? You cannot help the Skaal by dying before our great need of you-!"

"Frea, I will not argue about this with you. The village, the people, _our _village, _our_ people, are more important than my own health. I will sleep when this is over."

"Then at least eat something!"

Ren recognized Frea's voice. She was also familiar with the Skaal woman's tone. Frea was close to breaking down, close to letting loose a torrent of tears she was hiding beneath the hard tone she usually took. She was vaguely familiar with the second voice, but it took a few minutes to connect it with a name.

Storn Crag-Strider.

Ren opened her eyes to find herself staring at a wall. With a frown, she pushed herself up. She slept where she had before, save the fact that a curtain-really just a very large pelt-had been drawn across the bedroom entry.

_Why…?_

She looked down and her jaw dropped. She grabbed the pelt blanket and clutched it to her chest, face aflame.

_Why in Talos' sake was she _naked_?_

A door slammed shut, shaking the very house itself. A second later something thumped angrily against what Ren figured to be a wall, and a torrent of very impressive curse words floated by. A sob. Ragged breathing. Ren figured Frea would rather be alone with her grief, so said nothing other than searching desperately for her clothes, in vain. After a few minutes Ren heard a slow sigh, and the curtain was suddenly yanked back. Frea stared at her in surprise, apparently not expecting her to be awake.

"Who undressed me? Why? Where in Oblivion are my clothes?!"

"Mmm…Aeta found you unconscious near the outskirts of the village, just within our boarder. I carried you back here and tried to wake you, but you would not wake up. I had to see if you were wounded somehow, Ren. Your armor is by the fire-not _on_ fire, do not look at me as if I am witless-and there are a spare set of clothes in the dresser beside the bed."

"How in Oblivion did I get _here_?" Ren muttered, eyebrows drawing together as she tried to fathom how it was possible.

"I want to know how you came to be unconscious and without injury, Ren." Frea said seriously, startling her. Ren studied her for a moment before hunching over, but she slowly replied.

"I found the Shout easily enough. Miraak bothered me, left, and I headed back. Then a dragon attacked." She stopped suddenly and looked up at Frea.

"Do you think it possible that Alduin orchestrated his death?"

She had no idea how much the Skaal knew of the World Eater, but she was aware that there had to be something in their mythology, something in their long tales that spoke of him. Frea froze at her question, entire body stilling as if someone had paralyzed her.

"I do not…I do not see how something like that is possible. Why would you ask this?"

"The dragon said that the _Dovah_, even Alduin, had waited a long time for me."

"What would make you think they wanted death? Or you specifically? There have been other Dragonborns." Frea said, sitting down beside her on the bed.

"He asked me to kill him. And…I know. I said that. But Nehnahlot, the dragon, said that that wasn't true. And when Miraak appeared, it sort of fit."

"You saw Miraak?" Frea asked urgently, grabbing her arm. Ren nodded, absorbed in her own thoughts.

"Yes…he stole Nehnahlot's soul. But, Frea….he was strange. He didn't consume the soul like Alduin did, or absorb it like I do. They were trapped-he kept them trapped in his own soul, like a cage."

"This should not be possible-Miraak appearing. I know nothing of what you speak." Frea murmured. The Skaal looked deeply troubled. Ren forced her thoughts to focus on what was going on at the present, although a possibility lingered at the back of her mind

"I need you to mark the All-Maker stones on my map for me. I'll head out to the Wind Stone and go from there, once I get my things." Ren said suddenly. Frea absently nodded and left, pulling the curtain closed behind her. Ren, relieved beyond measure by the sudden privacy, quickly searched the dresser. She found clothes typical of a miner at the bottom of the drawer and pulled them on. They were a bit big on her, but they were functional, once she tied the pants with a leather strip. She pushed the curtain aside dramatically. Her armor lay on a chair beside the fire. Frea was bent over her map, a charcoal stick in hand. Ren donned her armor, keeping the hood and cowl down as she hunted the building for her weapons and other belongings. Her things lay untouched by the door, save the fact her sword had been sharpened. She checked her stockpile of arrows and was shocked to see that she had managed to get almost all of them, despite the fact she had barley been able to see straight.

Thank Nocturnal for the Lady's luck.

"I have marked in the Stones." Frea announced. Ren walked over to her and peered over the Skaal's shoulder as she studied the locations of the Stones. The Wind Stone was just outside of the village, and a short distance away from it stood the Beast Stone. Continuing straight down for what Ren figured would be a day was the Sun Stone, and by Raven Rock was the Earth Stone. If she were to continue straight up from there, she'd find the Water Stone.

"What about the one at Miraak's temple?" She asked.

"That one is…entirely lost to us." The grief in Frea's voice surprised her.

"What do you mean?"

"Miraak's center of influence is the Tree Stone. His power is too strong to break, which is a terrible thing. Even if my people were to be freed from the Wind and Beast Stones, the Tree Stone would still take them. And for all the others whom Miraak controls across all of Solstheim….They would all go inland and abandon their homes, their families, and their lives to work."

"If I were to free the other Stones, though, would that lessen your father's burden?" Frea looked up sharply at her.

"Yes…"

"How long would it take Miraak to get control of your people after I free them?"

"I do not know."

"Then you need to grab them and run. C'mon." Ren said, picking up the map, folding it, and squirreling it away.

"Where are-"

"We are going to free the Wind Stone. After that I'll go the Beast Stone, then the Sun Stone, back to Raven Rock, and I'll hit the Water Stone on my way back here. But if you don't know how long your people will be free, you need to get them to safety as quickly as possible." Ren instructed. Her words were entirely businesslike now. Frea was silent for a moment, then nodded.

"Let us go, then."

Ren cast a frown at the circle of Skaal praying before the village's biggest building as they headed out, seeing the thick exhaustion written on all of their faces. Even Aeta, the small child that Ren had greeted when she had first come to the village, was slumped beside one of the few adults, asleep.

"What do you know of Miraak?" Ren asked softly as they exited the barrier.

"His story is as old as Solstheim itself. He served the dragons before their fall from power, as most did. A priest in their order. But unlike most, he turned against them. He made his own path, and his actions cost him dearly. The stories say he sought to claim Solstheim for himself, and the dragons destroyed him for it. There is…" Frea hesitated, prompting Ren to stop and turn to look at her. The Skaal dug around in a bag hanging at her hip for a moment before producing a book. Curious, Ren took it.

"This is the only written record of Miraak." Frea said shortly, and began walking again. Ren trailed after her, studying the book. The Guardian and the Traitor by Lucius Gallus.

She laughed softly at the author's last name-she would have to show this to Karliah when she returned home. She flipped open the book, and her laughter died.

_'One of the more intriguing legends found on the island of Solstheim is the story of a mythical figure whose name is long forgotten but whom time remembers as "the Traitor". Certain that this myth is rooted in history I set out to learn what I could and perhaps piece together a presumptive account of the events that gave rise to the legend. _

_The tale is remembered best by the shamans of the Skaal, that unique tribe of Nords whose culture evolved along an entirely divergent path than that of their brethren in Skyrim. I spoke at length to the shaman of Skaal Village, a wise and hospitable man named Breigr Winter-Moon. He described an age long ago when dragons ruled over the whole world and were worshipped as gods by men. Presiding over this cult of dragon-worshippers were the Dragon Priests, powerful mages who could speak the dragon language and call upon the power of the Thu'um, or Voice. _

_According to the legend, one such Dragon Priest was seduced by a dark spirit named Herma-Mora, an unmistakable analogue for the Daedric prince Hermaeus Mora. Lured by promises of power, this treacherous priest secretly plotted against his dragon master. _

_The Traitor's plot was discovered by one of his contemporaries, another Dragon Priest whom legend named The Guardian. The two fought a mighty battle that lasted for days, each hurling terrible arcane energies and Thu'um shouts at the other. So great and terrible were the forces unleashed in this contest that Solstheim was torn apart from the mainland of Skyrim. Here, the myth clearly descends into the realm of pure fantasy. _

_The Guardian, whom the legend presents as a paragon of loyalty and nobility, finally defeats the despicable Traitor, who seems to represent all that is corrupt and evil in men. Their epic duel is clearly representative of a greater struggle between good and evil. Perhaps it is this timeless quality that has kept the tale alive for so long. _

_Unlike many similar myths, the tale of the Guardian and the Traitor does not feature a suitably heroic ending. Herma-Mora snatches the Traitor away just as the Guardian is about to strike the killing blow. The dragons appoint the Guardian ruler of Solstheim, but not before he is compelled to swear an oath of vigilance to watch for the Traitor's return. His reign is, by all accounts, a time of peace and prosperity for the people of the island, and he is remembered as a wise and just leader. _

_No further mention is made of the Traitor, but neither is he thought to be dead. The legend ends on a cautionary note that the people of Solstheim, the heirs of the Guardian, must remain wary, lest the dark influence of Herma-Mora, or even the Traitor himself, return someday. Although no physical clues exist now on Solstheim to suggest the presence of the dragon cult, is it hardly difficult to believe that it might once have flourished here…."_

Ren stopped reading. She almost dropped the book. A cold sense of dread filled her. Experience had taught her that the most outlandish tales were rooted in truth far more strongly than people believed. Perhaps it was true that Miraak and this Guardian had torn Solstheim from Skyrim.

And…why were the figures so clear-cut? No one was perfectly good or perfectly evil.

"How much do you think is fabricated?"

"By who?" Frea asked, as the Wind Stone came into sight. Ren put the book into one of her bags and drew her bow, stringing an arrow as Frea turned to glance at her.

"The Dragon Priests ruled unchallenged in Skyrim. Only a small rebellion ever surfaced, and they only succeeded in catapulting Alduin forward in time by a couple thousand years. But when they ruled, if they said something was wrong when it was right, it was wrong. And for a rebellion of this enormity to be staged…" Ren trailed off, uncertain on how to continue.

"You believe Miraak was not as evil as the tales depict him?" Frea asked. Her tone wasn't judgmental or challenging, something for which Ren was grateful.

"Tales are wrong. Have been before, will be again." Ren said shortly, expression darkening despite her attempts to keep her thoughts from straying too far from the subject. Frea remained silent for a moment as they halted in front of the Wind Stone.

"_Here in his shrine, that they have forgotten, here do we toil, that we might remember, by night we reclaim, what by day was stolen, far from ourselves, he grows ever near to us, our eyes once were blinded, now through him do we see_." The chant rose up around them, making Ren flinch. Frea drew her axe-Ren thought the weapon suited the Skaal woman abnormally well. Maybe, if they were still alive when it happened, Ren would get her a special War Axe for her birth-day. What kind, though? And when was her birth-day anyway?

"_Gol!" _She Shouted at the stone, after Frea bustled one of the worshippers out of the way. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the stone foundations the worshippers had build around the Wind Stone began to tremble, then glow, then they exploded. Chunks of rock flew everywhere. Ren kept her gaze flickering around the stone, remembering the harshness to Miraak's voice when he had told her he was returning. There was no way on Nirn he was going to let this occur without trying to stop it.

An unearthly scream shattered Solstheim like a knife to a paper. Ren jerked around as the water behind her bubbled black and green, tentacles exploding up to slash at her legs. A creature, resembling the statues that had filled Miraak's temple so, rose out of the black sludge. Ren danced away from the tentacles as another scream tore the sky apart, the creature roaring at her. She jerked her hood down and her cowl up as quickly as she could-there was a foul stench in the air that robbed her lungs of breath. She lifted her bow up, aimed, and fired.

Another scream, as her arrow pierced the monstrosities's eye. She could hear Frea directing people to the Skaal Village as she loaded another arrow and shot it at the creature's exposed throat. Two more followed in rapid succession, but then silence overtook the Wind Stone. The creature gasped once at her, then crumpled to the ground. The black sludge surrounding it vanished, leaving behind only a grotesque, mutilated body. She couldn't bring herself to search it, even when the possibility Miraak had left something important on it occurred to her. She instead put her bow away and helped Frea round up the villagers.

The trip back was terrible.

Frea answered questions calmly and told everyone to stay focused on the village. It seemed overly cautious at first, but once the barrier was in sight, the first person dropped to the snow. Frea ushered the others on, and Ren stopped to help him up.

"Are you alright?" She asked, grabbing his shoulder.

"_…Here in his shrine…That we have forgotten…_"

A chill ran down Ren's spine. The Skaal pushed himself up, eye glazed over feverishly. Some of the other villagers-a tall woman and an out of place Nord wearing clothes she had seen only on the nobility of Skyrim-stopped dead and slowly turned to face the blacksmith. Frea began rushing the others, telling them to run for their lives.

"_Here do we toil…That we might remember._" The two Skaal replied. As one they began walking, vaguely in the direction of the Tree Stone and Beast Stone. Ren grabbed the first Skaal's arm, jerking hard to make him turn to face her. He brushed her off as if she were nothing and continued walking. He moved purposefully and swiftly, despite the lethargic tone to his voice. The trio headed off without a moments' pause. Frustrated, Ren turned to the rest of the villagers. Most of them had made it into the barrier by now, but there were a few who remained just outside of it, footsteps slowing and strides faltering. She raced towards them. Two made it through the barrier, leaving only one outside of it. She slammed into their back, sending them tumbling into the barrier and crashing onto Frea. They tumbled for a little bit before managing to halt their momentum.

"What in the All-Maker's name?!" The Skaal she was on top of-a woman who sounded as sour as raw Jazbay-snarled. Ren rolled off of her and turned her head. Storn and the few survivors eyed them with surprise and relief. Ren dropped her head back into the snow, letting out an explosive breath.

"Alright, I'm going to the Beast Stone." She declared. She pushed herself up. The sour woman had already gotten up and was stalking off towards Storn and the others, as were the rest of the Skaal. Ren glanced at the barrier and, certain everyone was in it, started off.

"Wait!" Surprised, she turned. Frea was hurrying towards her.

"What?"

"I am going to come with you." Ren's eyes widened.

"Your people-"

"Have my father, by the All-Maker's will! You know almost nothing of Solstheim. You will need me." Frea said shortly.

"But-" Frea shoved something at her, cutting her off. Ren stared at the bag she had, puzzled, for a long moment. Then she opened it.

Food.

"You did not think of this." Frea said smugly, grabbing it back and throwing it over her shoulder. Ren sighed, but swung an arm to gesture at the road ahead of them.

"Lead the way then, Skaal warrior." Frea ignored the sarcasm. Ren really didn't expect otherwise.

They crossed a lake and snuck past a building that seemed overrun by the small green creatures Ren had seen earlier. Ren nudged Frea and jerked her head towards them.

"What are those?" Frea eyed them with distaste.

"They are called Rieklings. They are foul, evil creatures. They do not often prey upon the Skaal, but any traveler who comes across them is likely to be sacrificed or tortured in their insane rituals. They hoard objects as outsiders hoard gold, but the cost of gaining their treasure is usually greater than the objects are worth." Frea said, casting her a pointed glare. Ren sniffed.

"I am a thief, not an adventurer." Frea chuckled softly.

The Beast Stone came into view. A handful of bandit-like Dunmer Frea called 'Reavers' slaved away at it, as did a multitude of the Rieklings. No Skaal worked here, Ren noted. Frea seemed to notice the same thing, as her shoulders suddenly relaxed.

Ren sidled up to one of the Reavers. He didn't so much as look at her as he continued carving.

"_Gol_!" As before, the supports crumbled. More than one Riekling was crushed-the humanoids seemed to take a lot longer to recover than the people did. Reavers scattered left and right as the ground burst beneath their feet and one of the black creatures appeared. Ren reached for her back-and felt something that she hadn't brought with her.

Who had put the Wabbajack in her bag?! Why would Sheogorath choose _now_ to poke around with her life?!

She didn't have time to ponder the questions. The monster lunged, and she shot at it with the only weapon at her disposal.

It vanished, but in its place stood something else.

"By Talos!" She yelped, backpedaling as she grabbed for her sword. The Wabbajack rolled out of harms reach.

The Dremora Lord standing where the Lurker had moments ago smiled nastily.

"By the All-Maker, what did you do?!" Frea roared.

"I don't know!" She shouted, dodging a sweep of the biggest battleaxe she had ever seen. She lashed out with a flurry of attacks, but the Dremora Lord hardly felt them. He roared something in the otherworldly voice common of the Daedra, screaming it so loudly bits of Daedra spit flew everywhere, and kicked her in the stomach. She staggered back, rolling into a ball as she tumbled downhill. She struggled to get breath into her lungs even as the Dremora charged towards her, shrugging off the wounds Frea was inflicting on his back. Ren shakily lifted a hand as he approached.

In an instant, air was back in her lungs, the Dremora's blade was falling to her throat, and a blue ward sparked to life between them. The blade bounced off. The Dremora snarled, Ren dropped her ward, and she Shouted.

"_Fus Ro Dah!" _A second before she Shouted, the Dremora vanished, and the monster reappeared. Her _Thu'um_ send it flying straight into Frea's war axe. Ren scrambled up and ran over to Frea, but the livid Skaal had already freed herself of the dead beast and stalked over to the staff. She looked at Ren, pointed one finger at the staff, and snarled.

"This is why one does not consort with Daedra!"

**XXXXXXXXXXX**

**And this is where it becomes clear I did this for Nanowrimo, and somewhat cheated. I feel bad about the book, BUT it had to make an appearance. LOL.**

**Basically, I couldn't resist putting Miraak's POV in early. So this evolved. Hope you like it! **


	6. Part One: 6

Ren blinked away a flurry of black spots and found herself staring up at Frea's almost but not quite concerned expression. The back of her head ached fearsomely and every muscle in her body throbbed.

"What…?" She trailed off as she realized there was a giant mushroom looming over Frea's shoulder. She strugged to think back, but the last thing she remembered was dropping into a dead sleep beneath a handful of pine trees.

"How did I get here?"

"I forgot you are susceptible to Miraak's influence. I followed you here. I hit you before you could begin working, and it seemed to work." Frea said simply. Ren sat up, glancing around. They were both covered in ash, as it covered the ground in great heaping mounds. It fell from the sky like rain, dusting everything. Even the usually pristine water surrounding the All-Maker Stone was covered with a filmy layer of the substance. Ren herself was lying quite comfortably in an ash drift beneath a mushroom.

"How did these mushrooms grow so big?" She asked, lying back down with a careless shrug. She heard Frea moving around a bit, then the Skaal theatrically dropped beside her.

"Magic. Even the Skaal have heard of Neloth Telvanni, a great Dunmer mage who has lived here for centuries. He grew four mushrooms that are larger than any tree I have ever seen, and these are the seedlings of the great mushrooms. He calls his home Tel Mithryn. He is not an altogether pleasant man-I traveled Solstheim as a Rite of Passage years ago and met him here during one such travel-but his magic is kind to the land, and he does not press what the All-Maker does not want."

"So, you've mentioned the All-Maker before. You worship only one deity?" Ren asked, turning her head to look at Frea. The Skaal was staring up at the sky quietly.

"…Yes. The All-Maker created everything, and it is to him we go when we die. He is one with the land and teaches us to be so as well, rather than to exploit it and take from it as outsiders do…..What do you worship?" She asked, turning to face Ren.

"That's a matter for debate. Skyrim is torn right now. The Stormcloaks believe in Talos, the Ninth Divine, and that Skyrim belongs solely to the Nords. The Empire believes Skyrim is under its command and, since signing the peace treaty with the Aldmeri Dominion in order to save itself, have no choice but to stamp out Talos worship. Besides Talos, though, there are Eight Divines. Dibella, Arkay, Julianos, Stendarr, Akatosh, Mara, Kynareth, and Zenithar. I pray to Talos regularly, but I don't usually have much to do with any of the other Divines. And then there are the Daedric Lords. I leave offerings for some of them, when I get the chance."

"But you have taken vows to another." Frea said softly. Ren flinched.

"Yes. If you probe any deeper, though, I will have to kill you, Frea." There was no mirth in her voice, only a seriousness that did not seem to surprise Frea at all.

"I have figured out that much myself, outsider." Frea sighed. Silence consumed them until Ren let out a groan.

"I can't lay here without falling asleep, and if I do that it won't get me any rest anyway. Let's go." Ren growled, standing up. She got her bow out and strung up an arrow, glancing at the worshippers. They all appeared to be Reavers, save one Dunmer who was dressed more like a housekeeper. She turned her head and gazed at the horizon, just making out the tops of some obviously massive mushrooms. He probably worked for the Neloth Telvanni Frea had mentioned.

"_Gol!"_ The supports cracked and fell, and another monster appeared. By now it was nowhere near as impressive as it had been the first time. Ren fired off a handful of arrows before it got close to her, and Frea dropped it with a heavy chop to the back of its knees. Another chop sent its head rolling. The Reavers, upon seeing it, had fled for their lives. The other Dunmer had done much the same thing, save he had bolted in the direction of the giant mushrooms. Ren watched him flee as she put away her weapons, shaking her head. She couldn't blame him, but the man could have at least thanked them. Ash swarmed around her head for a moment, a result of the movement.

"Let's just go to Raven Rock. If I pass out on the way, tie me up." Ren sighed. Frea allowed a wicked grin to appear on her face as she nodded.

"With pleasure." Ren pulled a face at Frea's tone, but the two companions set off towards Raven Rock without another comment.

"Why did you come to Solstheim? Surely you could have simply killed Miraak's assassins and forgotten the matter. Why come all the way here?" Frea asked, breaking the silence after they had been walking for some time.

"I told you a while ago I owned property away from the Hold cities, right? That has its benefits, but with it being so far away from guards, it also has its downfall. Bandits, giants, wild animals, and occasionally those who don't stumble on it by accident attack it. I don't ever leave my son alone anywhere, if I'm leaving for long periods of time but…that doesn't always help. I left to find the Elder Scroll, and when I got back I found the people I had left to care for Hroar dead. Nothing in the house was taken-I have hiding spots for my valuables anyway, so it wasn't like they saw anything special-except for Hroar. It took me a week to track him down and rescue him. After that we moved to Whiterun, and he's been there ever since. Miraak's assassins found me in Whiterun and tried to kill me at Dragonsreach, the Jarl's palace. If they were brave enough to do that, they'd be brave enough to go after Hroar. I came here as soon as I could to stop whoever was trying to have me killed."

"You came to protect your son. What about his father?" Frea asked, staring at her out of the corner of her eyes. Ren shot her an annoyed look.

"I adopted Hroar…Um….Five years ago. Although, his room has two beds and I know for a fact his friends sleep there almost as often as he does. There's always someone bunking there. There's a spare bedroom-I had a housecarl at one point, but I told her to retire. Now and then she'll stop by to see how we're getting on and mother us to death. Anyway, I'm not married." Ren said, shaking her head.

"Such a surprise." Frea snorted. Ren jabbed her elbow in the Skaal's stomach, and was rewarded with a handful of muffled curses.

"So what about you? Is there anyone you have your eye on? Because your options seemed kind of limited." Ren asked teasingly. The Skaal's eyes narrowed.

"Wulf Wild-Blood, First Hunter of the Skaal has asked me marry him, if you must know." Frea sniffed disdainfully.

"And you said no?" Ren guessed. Frea flinched.

"I have duties to attend to. In these times I must watch out for my father and take up what he cannot do any longer. With game becoming scarcer each dawn, Wulf has to hunt longer and farther than the Skaal have ever had to do before. And, when she can spare him, Fanari often sends him to hunt down the Reavers that hunt without proper cause. I will not distract the village during such a time as this. Perhaps when Miraak is defeated." Frea allowed, but even when Ren needled her, the woman would say no more.

"Do the Skaal marry outside of their own?" Ren finally asked. Frea nodded.

"Yes, if there is love between them. It is not common, though. Outsiders almost never come to Solstheim, never mind about the village itself. It has happened once in the last few generations, that I know of. Why? Do you have your eye on anyone?" Frea taunted. Ren scowled at her.

"The only thing appealing about the Skaal are their accents." She declared, folding her arms. Ahead of them the top of the Bulwark appeared, so she bolted for it as Frea let loose a cry. She didn't know Frea well enough to know if Frea would smack her like Serana did, but she had no desire to test the Skaal.

Two Redoran guard shot her nasty looks as she ran past them. Ren ignored them until she reached the market square. She glanced at the forge, where Glover worked over a piece of unwieldy looking armor. Relief filled her to see that he was alright and, more importantly, free of Miraak's influence for the time being. He hadn't spotted her yet.

_Good_.

She turned and grabbed the arm of the first person who walked by her, a formidable looking Dunmer.

"What do you want?" He growled, jerking free of her.

"Do you know where Crescius Caerellius is?" She asked, fumbling over the name. There were too many '_c_' sounds.

"The mines. He's been hanging out there for years." The Dunmer said, nodding his head towards the location.

"Thanks!" She chirruped, dashing for the mines. The Dunmer seemed baffled, but she didn't much mind. She could hear Frea running to catch up with her-the Skaal might have made a good hunter, but she was no thief. The noise she made was unbelievable. Even Delvin, drunk on Vekel's 'special mead' made less sound.

She reached the mines without trouble and pulled the door open, slipping inside. An argument assaulted her ears almost immediately.

"Damn it woman! I said leave me be!"

"Crescius, last time you explored the mine you almost fell to your death! I'm not spending the rest of my days as a widow!" A woman's voice cried back.

"And I'm telling you that I'll do whatever it takes to find my great-grandfather's remains. He's down here, I can feel it."

"That was almost two centuries ago! There may be nothing left to find!" Ren came upon the arguing couple. A Dunmer woman, close to tears and sounding extremely frustrated, stood in front of an elderly Imperial man.

"Just let me go, woman!" The Imperial, Crescius, Ren assumed, snapped.

"Crescius, you're an obstinate old fool and you're going to get yourself killed!" She cried out, tears breaking loose. She turned and stormed out, not even glancing at Ren.

Ren was silent for a moment, glancing between the door and the Imperial.

"Hey, Crescius?" Ren asked awkwardly, trying out the man's name. He turned to face her immediately, scowling. He was dressed in sloppy, wrinkled clothing covered in dust, and his hair was long and greasy. He wasn't much of a looker by anyone's standards. Considering the fact he appeared much older than his wife, Ren wondered idly why she had married him. Especially if he treated her as he just had all the time.

"What is it?"

"Glover sent me to get his pickaxe back." She said bluntly. The Imperial's eyes narrowed.

"What, that old fool? He probably stole it in the first place!" He snapped. The sound of Frea's running met Ren's ears-she had caught up to her.

"So you make a habit of taking what doesn't belong to you?" Ren asked hypocritically, folding her arms across her chest. The Imperial's face darkened. He reached for something at his side and Frea tensed beside her, as if expecting a weapon of some sort to come racing towards them. Instead the old man held out an intricately carved pickaxe, stained dark with age and made of a material Ren was unfamiliar with. Ren hesitantly reached out and grabbed it. As soon as her fingers touched it, the old man dropped it.

"Get out of here." The old man said curtly, turning and stalking deeper into the mines. Ren glanced at Frea, who seemed annoyed by the man's rude manner.

"The people of Solstheim are so welcoming." Ren said, smiling sweetly. Frea's glare turned to her.

"C'mon. We can probably stay at Glover's house for free rather than the Inn for gold, if I get him his stuff back. I swear, this is the last time I help anyone, no matter _who_ they're related too." Ren groused, heading out.

"Who is this Glover?" Frea asked. Ren dropped her voice to a bare whisper as they exited the mine.

"The brother of one of my…associates. He lost some of his more important belongings and asked me to get them back for him."

"Who is this companion of yours?" Frea asked, sensing the mirth in Ren's voice. Ren laughed.

"Delvin Mallory. He's like the grandfather I never had, which is kind of gross, actually." Ren added thoughtfully, pulling a face.

"Why is that?" Frea asked curiously. The Skaal was full of questions, Ren mused with no small degree of amusement.

"Every time he sees me he tries to convince me to bed with him-actually, anytime a woman walks into the Flagon he accosts them. He never touches them, but it's because of him that only Guild women go there and they wouldn't hesitate to cut off his hands. He spends most of his time drinking. But he's a master thief and has taught me a lot." Ren murmured, shrugging. Frea let out a sound halfway between laugh and a huff, something that sounded strange even to Ren. Before Ren could ask what it was about, however, they arrived at Glover's forge. He didn't notice them right away, so Ren lifted her hand and knocked on the wooden pillar she stood beside. A dark scowl painting his face he looked up, then blinked in surprise when he saw her.

"Ren?" He asked softly. His eyes went wide and he stood, excitement bubbling forth from him like a child on their birth day.

"Do you have it?" He demanded. Ren rolled her eyes at him.

"Yeah, you're definitely related to Delvin. Yes, but I'm not getting them for you if you lose them again." She said, handing over the pickaxe.

"Ah, no. You can keep it." Ren's eyes went round with disbelief.

"You made me go harass some old guy for this, and now you're saying you don't want it?!"

"Someone had to teach Crescius that he can't just go around taking what doesn't belong to him. And anyway, I don't work with Stalhrim that often, so I have little to no use for it. Just keep it. Maybe you'll find something to use it for later." Glover muttered. Ren put her hands on her hips, still holding the pickaxe in one hand.

"And you're one to take the moral high ground?!"

"That is hypocritical. You did in the mines." Frea pointed out, shifting from foot to foot.

"That's irrelevant! I stole an Elder Scroll to save the world! I can be as hypocritical as I want!" Ren snapped, scowling. She didn't know what she was going to do with the heavy pickaxe. Actually, she would probably leave it with Glover until she killed Miraak. She could pick it up on her way back to Skyrim.

Both Glover and Frea stared at her in disbelief. She sighed and began digging around in her bag, pulling out an only slightly crumpled piece of paper a few moments later.

"And…here's your formula." Glover snatched it from her and hurriedly unfolded it. His eyes scanned the paper, and he sighed with relief.

"Thank the Divines." He muttered, collapsing back on the edge of his forge. Ren winced, but he wore thick leathers to protect him from small embers that dotted the rim. Of course, they were nothing like dragon fire. Now _that_ hurt.

"So….My reward aside, we were kind of hoping we could stay at your place tonight." Ren said, rocking back and forth on her heels. Glover looked up at her and scowled.

"Septim pincher." He growled. She only offered him a wide grin.

"…Yeah. I'll close up early today. This is cause for celebration. Not many could get all the way across Solstheim and back in, what, three days?" Glover said, standing up. Ren and Frea shared a glance.

"Yeah, that's all I did." Ren said dryly. Glover shot her a curious look, which she ignored. She slipped over a rope he had tied from one wooden pillar to the other, an attempt to keep people out of his forge, and effortlessly wove her way around the forge materials that were crammed beneath the small roof. Ren had no idea how the Breton managed to maneuver around them each and every day. He was much too bulky for that.

But, of course, he _had _been a member of the Thieves Guild at one point. And the Thieves Guild accepted no one who could not handle their own in a job.

Ren made it to the door and jiggled the handle, letting out an explosive sigh of disgust when she found it was locked.

"Really, Glover? You never go more than four feet from your door at any point during the day, and you lock it?" Ren whined, turning her head to look at him. He didn't bother to look at her when he responded dryly.

"If you're any indication, it keeps thieves out well enough." Ren's jaw dropped in indignation, but he had already finished whatever it was he had been doing. Carrying a large bundle over one shoulder, he nudged her out of the way an inserted a key into the door's lock. A soft snick sounded, and the door swung open.

"Ladies first." He said, waving his hand. Frea smirked and pushed past her, although Ren was not that far behind.

His house was small and cozy, furnished comfortably but sparingly. A shelf ran around the entire room at about waist height, and he dropped his burden on it as he motioned for them to sit. Ren perched on the shelf while Frea took a chair.

"I promised you a reward, didn't I? I should just call this good." Glover muttered, digging around in a strongbox near a doorway into another room.

"…But here. There's some stuff in the basement that I don't have any need for anymore. Take anything you see. And some Black-Briar Reserve too. Do you drink?" The last part he directed to Frea, even as he handed Ren a small key. Ren immediately brightened.

Keys always interested her. They told stories. One could tell how important their secrets were based on their shape-thereby explaining the specific type of lock they fit into-and how worn they were, whether there were markings on it, and whether or not someone had written on it. This particular key was small but long, obviously belonging to a lock that had been designed by a thief themselves, probably Glover, and well worn. The edges of it, however, were not nearly as scratched as an often used key would be. It had no carvings and no words on it. Actually, there could have been at one point, but Ren could not make out anything through the polished metal.

Glover didn't often go wherever this key led, but he thought about it all the time.

"No. The Skaal do not need such things." Frea said seriously, shaking her head.

"You're loss. Nothing finer than Maven's special Reserve." He declared. Frea rolled her eyes.

"Is there a place I can sleep?" She asked. Glover paused.

"Um, in the basement. Ren, you take her down there? I'm sure by the time I get down there you'll have cleared plenty of room." He said dryly, casting her an amused look. Ren narrowed her eyes at him.

"Don't mock me, old man."

"And you'd do what about it?" He snorted, closing the strongbox and folding his arms across his chest.

He had some _really _big muscles.

"I'm the Guildmaster and the _Dovahkiin_. You do the math." She replied, turning and slipping into the adjoining room.

"Just a handful of big titles for a slip of a thing." Glover called after her, as Frea slipped past him.

"Hey! When I'm fighting brutes like you, I need all the big titles I can get, thank you very much!" Ren shouted back, unlocking the basement door and dramatically throwing it open.

Her eyes widened when she saw what awaited in the room.

"Glover, what is this?!" Ren shouted, seeing a set of armor unlike anything she'd ever seen before. She lifted the glass lid it was trapped beneath slowly, letting out a hiss at how heavy it was.

The armor itself looked like a cross between the Nightingale armor she wore and the Guild armor every member of the Thieves Guild wore. It was much darker, but made of the same Guild style she was familiar with.

"Ah, well..." She looked up as Glover entered the room. Frea was already throwing together a sleeping area in one of the corners, studiously ignoring them.

"…See, this was my pet project when I was with the Guild. I wanted to make a set of armor better than the standard stuff Tonilia makes. Don't get me wrong, she's a lovely girl, but her blacksmithing skills are far from perfect."

"And yours are?" Frea muttered, drawing a laugh from Ren. Glover's cheek twitched but he otherwise ignored the jibe.

"I'm no good with enchantments, but I think I did good on these." He said, lifting up a pair of gloves. Ren had to agree with him, however much she hated feeling like she was betraying Tonilia. This black armor even looked stronger than the Guild armor that the Redguard woman spent hours making.

"What do you call it?"

"Blackguard's armor. I, ah….Growing up Delvin and I heard a lot of myths about Nocturnal. About how she gives us the luck we need to get out of stuff easily. So, I crafted this and named it in her honor. Tonilia wouldn't accept 'better Guild armor'." He added, a sheepish smile touching his face. Ren did her best not to flinch at the mention of the Daedric Lord. While, at this point, the entire Guild already knew about Nocturnal's history with the Guild, she would never get used to how easily that interfered with her vows.

"She's very picky about her craftsmanship. I always wondered why." Ren said dryly. Glover laughed.

"Yeah, well, I'm not going to use it. You try it, see if it fits. If not I can fix it up. Are you alright? Need anything?" He directed his questions towards Frea, who was sitting on a pile of stuff Ren assumed she was going to sleep on, armor laid out neatly at the edge of it. Frea looked extremely uncomfortable.

"Food, I suspect." Ren muttered. Glover's eyes widened.

"Ah, can't believe I forgot! Hold on, I'll go get something." He said, hurrying out of the room. Ren closed the door behind him and locked it, eager to try on the armor she had just acquired.

"You do not act as a thief should." Frea murmured. Ren glanced at her, amusement clear in her eyes.

"The Guild has honor. Sounds strange, but it's true. We don't kill our marks and we don't take from those who can't afford it. And, we're a family. I know that makes us sound like the Brotherhood." Ren added, seeing Frea open her mouth. The Skaal woman's brow furrowed in confusion.

"The…Brotherhood? I have not heard of them." Ren's eyes went wide.

"You've never heard of the Dark Brotherhood? Sithis and the Night Mother and the Black Hand, all of that?" Frea shook her head in response.

"Damn. You're way out there. Well, they're a group of assassins. They worship Sithis-don't ask me to explain who Sithis is-and the Night Mother, who they believe is his wife. She's long dead, but if you want to hire them you pray to her. She hears it, they visit, your contract dies, you pay the gold."

The armor fit well enough. It was much less conspicuous than her Nightingale attire, forged midnight and all. It appeared just as strong, too, although it didn't conceal her face nearly as well. The hood dipped over her eyes, though, which was a good thing. Satisfied, Ren packed her Nightingale armor away. The Blackguard stuff was just like the Guild armor, which meant it was bearable to sleep in. And if Miraak reached for her again that night, she wanted all the protection she could get.

"Have you dealt with the Brotherhood before?" Frea asked cautiously. Ren nodded.

"We have close ties with them. They…require our services every so often, and when the guards or their commander get to nosey or violent, we require theirs. That's pretty rare, though. And the rest is confidential." Ren said, grinning slightly.

To be honest, the Brotherhood scared her. She had accidentally stolen a contract once. Their leader at the time had kidnapped her and tried to force her to murder three random strangers. Ren had instead turned on her. Since then the Brotherhood would occasionally send half-hearted assassins after her, but no real damage had been done to her. The Listener seemed reasonable enough, but Ren had only spoken to him a few times. Karliah said she was an excellent judge of character, but coming from a thief to a thief about a devoted assassin, Ren doubted that meant much.

If the Listener tried to kill her, however, she wouldn't hesitate to strike back.

Frea let out a noncommittal noise. Ren spotted a strongbox off to the side, along with a sheaf of papers. Curious, she pounced on it.

_My dearest daughter Sapphire…_

The door behind her jiggled a little, and Ren distractedly set down the papers, walking over to it and unlocking it for Glover. The blacksmith was juggling a plate full of food in his arms. He spared Ren a glance and nodded approvingly when he realized she was wearing the armor, even as he transferred the plate onto a table.

"Here you are." Glover muttered, turning towards a cluster of Black-Briar Reserve bottles. Ren stifled a smirk. Any type of mead drew Delvin like a moth to a flame. It appeared the same went for his brother as well.

"What's a Skaal doing this far from the village with a Nord Thief? If you don't mind me asking." Glover added, dropping a couple of goblets on the table as he uncorked the alcohol.

"Freeing the people of Solstheim." Frea said dryly, obviously not expecting him to believe her.

"Saving the world. I think, if I ever leave the Guild, I'll take it up as my career path. I'm pretty good at it." Ren said proudly. It wasn't as if she had wanted to be thrust into the position of _Dovahkiin_, but there was no sense in denying something like that. Some people referred to her and the Dragonborn as if they were two separate people. Ren couldn't fathom thinking like that.

"What do you mean?" Glover asked, dropping into a chair. Ren perched on the shelf that ringed the room-it appeared to be a common thing, as it existed in every room in Glover's hosue.

"I'm the _Dovahkiin_. Dragonborn. Even you had to hear about a certain someone stabbing Alduin to death with a pigsticker." She said, rolling her eyes. Glover looked bemused.

"I think I speak for all of Tamriel when I say you are the _last_ person I would expect to be Dragonborn. So what do you mean you're saving Solstheim?" Glover continued on, impressing Ren. Most people would stop and obsess over what she was. A newfound respect for the blacksmith welled up within her.

"Miraak has returned." Frea said shortly. Glover stared at her, puzzled.

"That name sounds familiar."

"It should. The All-Maker Stone outside of town?" Ren prompted. Glover's brow furrowed.

"The shrine? But that's sacred!"

Ren and Frea shared a glance.

"It is." Frea said gravely. Ren assumed the Skaal was talking about the fact it was called an _All-Maker_ Stone, after her deity, and not the fact that Miraak had claimed it as his own.

"This is making my soul hurt." Ren grumbled, settling into the pile of furs and a bedroll she'd cobbled together with her goblet of mead. Both of her companions stared at her strangely.

"When I learn a Shout, it scars my soul. Usually it isn't that bad-'cept when the _Thu'um_ isn't meant to be, like Alduin's Bane. _That_ hurt. And, coupled with the fact he digs it in about as brutally as humanly possible, that makes it very uncomfortable. It's like bruising. I could throw a rock at you and it would bruise you. Why should the soul be any different?" Ren shrugged as she took a sip of her drink. She _loved_ Reserve, and it had been ages, it felt, since she'd last had any. Frea slowly nodded.

"My father would like to hear this, I think. Do you know if you could do the same to him?" Frea asked curious. Ren frowned.

"I don't know. We might be _Dovahkiin_, but we're different. I wouldn't do it." She said softly.

"Why not?" It wasn't entirely Glover's voice that asked. Ren and Frea both half stood, Frea reaching for her weapon and Ren struggling to remember the basic spells she had learned years ago as she struggled to finish drinking her mead-she wasn't going to let it go to waste. Glover's eyes were glazed over, but his face appeared slightly amused.

"How in Oblivion did you-?!" Ren coughed out, trying not to choke on the alcohol. Frea inched over to her and pounded her on the back, but by that point Ren had recovered. Miraak's laughter in Glover's voice unnerved her, though.

"Have you never tried to gather information on your enemies?" He asked, sounding amused.

"I pissed of a Daedric Lord doing that, on accident, and that was it." Ren snapped, eyes narrowed. Vaermina still hadn't forgiven her for it.

"How in the All-Maker's name did-"

"Get out of Glover's head." Ren interrupted, ignoring Frea's look of disbelief. Glover's head tilted to the side.

"It seems to annoy you, does it not? My Lurkers have not caused you any trouble yet. Expect more…resistancenext time, _Mal Dovahkiin._" Ren scowled. Frea began shouting something less than complimentary at Miraak, and Ren began pondering how to bring Glover back.

Her gaze went to the strongbox behind her and, more importantly, the papers beside it. She snatched it up and turned to the possessed blacksmith, hissing at Frea to shut up. The Skaal stopped and stared at her, furious and confused.

"_My dearest daughter Sapphire, it's with a heavy heart that I write this letter. For years I've thought about how I could tell you this, and each time I imagined it would be face-to-face. I'm ashamed for what I did, and I hope that someday you'll learn to forgive me. Whatever you do, don't blame Delvin for any of this. He didn't know._" Glover's eyes went wide even as a chuckle escaped him. The glazed look began to recede.

"Brilliant, _Mal Dovahkiin_."

"_Long after I joined the Guild, I was sent to rob a caravan that was stopping at a tiny farming village far from the border of Skyrim. When I arrived there, I was a day early and decided to sleep for the night in the barn of a pig farm. I awoke the next morning when the most beautiful woman I'd ever laid eyes upon walked in to do her chores. She wasn't even frightened when she saw me... in an instant I think we had both fallen in love. I ended up living with that woman in that tiny little village for a year until she was with child. And then, like a coward... I ran away. I was a thief and I didn't want to end up a farmer. It was a terrible thing to do."_ It truly broke Ren's heart to read this aloud to Frea and Miraak, and even to read it herself. This was Glover's business, not theirs. This belonged to Sapphire, not her. Miraak seemed to surrender control, because Glover suddenly pitched forward out of his chair, onto the floor. Ren froze, eyes widening in horror. Had Miraak just killed him?!

A snore drifted up from the incapacitated Breton.

"…He's asleep?" Ren asked, voice cracking. She folded up the papers she held and put them beside the strongbox, hurrying over to Glover. Frea did the same.

Ren put a finger to the blacksmith's wrist, seeking his pulse. She eventually found it, much to her relief. She doubted a dead man could snore loudly enough to shake the very foundations of the house, but she had to be sure. Serana didn't have a heartbeat, but the vampire could be loud when she wanted to be.

Frea took the key to the room from her and locked the door, made Ren close her eyes as she put the key Talos knew where, and then turned in for the night. Ren didn't follow immediately. She cleaned up the alcohol Glover had spilled first, and then stared at the papers she had read, thinking. Sapphire believed her father was murdered, along with her mother in the bandit raid that had turned Sapphire's life upside down. Yet, if Glover was her father, how was that possible? Had her mother married after Glover had abandoned her?

Ren winced. She hated to think badly of the man, but it was true.

"Go to sleep, Dragonborn." Frea grumbled, surprising Ren.

"But-"

"_Now."_ Frea's tone allowed no room for arguments. Sulking, Ren did as she was told.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

**...Meh. Not my favorite chapter.**


End file.
